Brown and White Feathers
by Kemnam
Summary: Bucky is one of the winged-folk, and Steve is lucky to call him his best friend. But they can't fly away from their destiny's. The adventures may change, but the story remains the same. Memories and scenes from the movies retold with my wing!verse, wing!AU.
1. No Wings Allowed

_Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Winter Soldier, or any Marvel characters._

* * *

May, 1933

* * *

The painted letters were mocking him.

They weren't even meant for him, yet Steve still took personal offense to the message. He dared not look at Bucky, not take the risk of seeing the hurt and disappointment on his friends face. That would just be too much. People passed around them on the street as they stood in front of the window. Newspapers wafted by their feet in the crisp wind that was almost painful to Steve's dry skin. In another time, the streets would have been cleaner, and Steve and Bucky, both being healthy and happy, would have walked into the cafe without a second thought. That day could have even been a week ago, when the sign wasn't there. But today they were both starving, just like everyone else, and trash littered the sidewalk - and the sign was there. Steve's shock hardened into disgust. This was the last place he expected to see a sign like that. But before Steve could barge through the front door and tear the sign to shreds, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"Forget it, hothead." Bucky said coolly. His face was expressionless, thankfully, but his eyes were still glued to the sign. "Let's just go somewhere else."

"This is bull, and you know it." Steve mumbled, leaning against Bucky's hold. "They didn't even use the correct adjective. It's just 'wings'. What, like only part of you isn't allowed? That's stupid."

"Probably didn't have a big enough sign." Bucky smirked. Steve yanked himself out of the taller man's grasp, annoyed with Bucky's feigned indifference.

"Bucky, this is the third sign we've seen." Steve hissed. He turned back to the cafe, pausing as he took in the sight of people eating peacefully through the front windows, as if nothing were wrong. "This is our favorite joint."

"People are just trying to get by. If my not doing business with them makes it easier for them, then I'm happy to oblige." Bucky's tone was nonchalant, but Steve could see the disappointment swimming in his friend's eyes. He allowed his unamusement to show on his face. Bucky dropped the smirk, matching Steve's seriousness. "Times are hard right now, Steve. I don't really want to make it any more difficult for other people than I have to."

Steve couldn't argue with that. The last few years had been nothing but declining wages, a crashing economy, and growing despair. He turned his head to the side, still angry.

"Seriously Buck. You're starting to look skinnier than me." Bucky laughed at that - obviously fake - with the slight sound of rustling feathers behind it.

"Won't that be the day, huh? Don't worry about me, pal." Bucky draped an arm over Steve as he turned away from the cafe and began walking, pulling him close so that the smaller man was hidden by one of Bucky's huge wings from behind. "Hey, I think I saw a pizza joint just down that alley. What say we share a slice… Steve?"

"That's not near enough food for you and you know it." He's annoyed Bucky with his persistence now. Bucky growls lightly as he pushes the asthmatic in front of him, getting ready to give a lecture. But before he can say more than "Now you listen here, Steve Rogers-", Steve interjects.

"Just let me go talk to the owner." Steve focused on Bucky's eyes. "Maybe I can get him to cut us a deal. He knows us."

Steve wasn't going to let this go. Bucky could tell. He sighed and let all of his limbs droop in defeat, hanging his head.

"And if you can't, then can we get pizza?" Bucky's stomach growled so loud just then, a couple people passing by turned their heads at the sound. The poor guy was famished. Steve had no idea when the last time Bucky had a complete meal was. Bucky probably didn't either.

Steve had burst through that door before Bucky realized he was gripping air. He scanned the room and bar quickly from the doorway. Finally, he saw the owner, a paunchy middle-aged man, through the order-pickup window. Steve was just barely tall enough to look through the opening as he walked over to it. Bucky crossed his arms and watched him through the window - half annoyed, but also too tired to really do anything.

"Evening, Pierre." Steve greeted cheerlessly.

The Frenchman looked up and plastered a smile on his tired face. "Stevie. Always good to see you, mon ami. I hope you are keeping well." As he talked, his hands didn't stop in their work, minding sauce pans and stirring soup pots. But the sauce was thin and the soup was watery.

"I saw your sign." Steve cut to the chase, not in the mood for pleasantries - not this time. The old man's smile disappeared instantly. Pierre straightened and yelled in the back for Carlo, his partner and fellow chef, to watch the kitchen and disappeared. A few seconds later, he came out of the swinging doors, wiping his hands on his apron that probably hadn't been washed in a week. His eyes cast around and saw Bucky outside the windows looking in. Bucky just smiled and waved. Pierre didn't wave back.

"I know what you are going to say." Pierre began, his French-Cajun accent that he brought with him from New Orleans as heavy as ever. "But you know how it is. It is hard enough making a living without the homme ailé getting everything for free with their special 'discount'."

"He's willing to pay full, normal price." Steve looked up at the man, who cocked an eyebrow in skepticism. Of course, Bucky hadn't expressly said this, but Steve knew that he would agree to it, so he pressed on. "Pierre come on, they are having a hard enough time trying to get by as we are."

The Frenchman crossed an arm over his stomach and scratched his stubbly chin, leaning in close to Steve. "I know Bucky may be well on paying the lot, but what if other winged-folk see and think I am still offering the discount? I can't be giving away my services for practically free…you know that I care about you boys. I would hate to see something happen to you…but given the state of things, I just can't afford to take that chance."

"You've seen other winged-folk besides Bucky?" Steve eyes went wide, his anger momentarily forgotten. There were an estimated grand total of five winged-folk in the entire state of New York. How many of them were in Brooklyn? Steve didn't know. Honestly, he had thought that Bucky was the only one. Well, him and Old Ms. Turner, but even she lived just within the city limits. Pierre dropped his gaze.

"Well no, but-"

"Then one winged-folk willing to pay full price isn't going to hurt your business at all." Steve let his shoulders relax, changing tactics to try to appeal to the man's sense of charity that he hoped was still there. "He's starving Pierre, hasn't eaten more than a bite in days. Your food is the only thing that has enough nutrition and protein to sustain Bucky."

Pierre said nothing, his eyes betraying the thoughts in his head and the sense of duty Steve had planted there. Down in New Orleans, a new kind of gourmet sandwich had sprung up in the French Quarter. A giant wheel of bread cut in half, topped with ham, capicola, salami, portabella, and provolone, then piled high with onions, cheese, and a whole serving of olive salad. It was called a muffaletta, and it was a winged-folk's dream come true. Packed with so many carbs that Steve could only handle a few bites, it could satisfy even the hungriest of winged-folk, who had to eat two meals for every one meal that regular people had. The Killian Discount that had been put into effect by the Society of Avian Affairs was to help winged-folk from spending loads of money on loads of food that they couldn't help but eat. It didn't cut prices in half for them, not completely. But it had made the cost of living more manageable. It wasn't a problem, until the stock market crashed and prices got low. Then people started putting up signs.

Pierre looked like he was about to break. But then his face hardened again. "Even so, how are you guys going to pay for this? Do you even have the money to buy these sandwiches?"

Steve blinked at the man. "We've been saving our money so we could come here. I've been working two jobs. Bucky's been working overtime at the factory."

Pierre paused at that, a small amount of worry flickered across his face. "Which factory?"

"Silver Star." Steve mumbled.

Pierre's eyes widened. "I had no idea Bucky was working there…"

Steve sighed through his nose. "Yeah… dropped out of school when his dad lost his job."

Pierre looked back out the windows at Bucky again, now turned away from the window and sitting on the curb. His wings rested on either side of him against the sidewalk, as if the effort of holding them up was physically draining. Even from here, they could both see a spot of black on the back of Bucky's neck, something he had missed when trying to clean off all the grime. Pierre's face became sullen. He looked back at Steve, the decision wrestling behind his eyes. Steve wanted to say more, to continue to push his case for Bucky. But the Frenchman's tired eyes and trembling hands kept him quiet. Finally, Pierre huffed out a breath that could have also been a laugh.

"Bring him in." Pierre said as he slapped a hand over his eyes and shook his head.

Steve felt like his smile was going to split his face in half. "Thank you so much, Pierre. You know what he likes." Steve turned toward the door.

"What about you?" Pierre called after him. Steve looked back over his shoulder.

"I'll just have a few bites of his." He said with a shrug.

Pierre was about to protest, but waved it away and shouted to Carlo in the back. The Italian grinned out from the pickup window, a look of _I told you so_ twinkled in his eyes.

"Bucky, come on!" Steve shouted from the door.

Bucky turned to look at Steve from his seat on the curb, an incredulous look on his face.

"Really?" Bucky stood up. With one small stroke of his wings he leapt the width of the sidewalk in one step, making a short of spectacle himself for the other people walking by. "He's gonna let me in?"

"Just be glad it was payday today, pal." Steve held the door open for Bucky. "We're paying full price."

"That is absolutely fine with me." Bucky sauntered over to the table that Pierre was setting up, the usual table that he and Steve always sat at. Steve couldn't help but notice that what few other patrons that were in the joint were giving him and Bucky confused and angry looks, glancing between them and the sign in the window. Bucky clasped Pierre on the shoulder, his face brimming with gratitude.

"We owe you one, Pierre." Bucky's stomach grumbled again, and he chuckled in embarrassment. "Seriously."

Pierre's own smile didn't reach his eyes. "Bucky, mon fils… I didn't know you were working in the factory."

Bucky's smile faltered for a split second, making Steve think for a second that it hadn't happened. He looked to Pierre, and was taken aback by his expression. Steve imagined the picture that Pierre probably had in his head; Bucky in a dark place, goggles over his eyes and a scarf over his mouth with smoke curling around his body and collecting on his skin, clothes, and hair, a broom clutched in his hand, his wings and arms working tirelessly. It was the same picture Steve had, and it made his heart lurch as well. But Bucky simply brushed it off. However, that didn't mean that he wasn't fully aware just how bad it was.

"Well, it's good pay." Bucky said as he sat down. "And they keep telling me 'it's a job only I can do', so I'm not worried about being out of work anytime soon."

As Steve sat down, Carlo came out of the back kitchen as well, carrying one plate with the massive sandwich on it. He shouted a massive greeting to the two of them, causing everyone to turn their heads once more. Steve couldn't help but notice he was looking a little on the skinny side, and so was Pierre. So was everybody.

"Here you go, Jimmy." Carlo placed the large sandwich in front of Bucky. "Always the best for my favorite pigeon."

Bucky was too captivated by the plate in front of him to take notice of the tease, like he'd never seen something so beautiful in his life. Steve could almost see the drool at the edge of his mouth. But he swallowed it away as he picked up one part of the sandwich that had been cut into quarters. Steve laughed as Bucky had to practically unhinge his jaw to take a bite. When he did, his feathers stood on end. Steve, Pierre, and Carlo watched him, waiting for his reaction. His wings relaxed and he closed his eyes with pure contentment as he chewed. Steve smiled.

"Where's yours?" Bucky asked as he took another bite without swallowing the one he already had in his mouth.

"I get part of yours." Steve picked up another quarter. "This is supposed to feed a family of four, you know."

"I hate to be rigoureux," Pierre chimed in. "But you can pay for this, right?"

Carlo slapped the man on the arm, an annoyed expression on his face. But Bucky put down his sandwich and stood up, fishing his hand into his trouser pocket. When he pulled his hand out, he had a small stack of bills in his curled fingers. Counting carefully, Bucky pulled five dollars out of the stack. Steve knew the meal would only cost about two. He knows Bucky is trying to be kind, but his family's rent isn't going to pay itself. But it's not Steve's money to spend, so he says nothing. He'll give Bucky a dollar after they've had their fill.

Bucky handed the money to Pierre, who took the bills with a shocked expression. He looked up at Bucky, a questioning look on his face. Bucky just shrugged, still chewing.

"Overtime at the factory. I told you it pays good." Bucky smiled tightly around his food, but it was a tired gesture.

Pierre was motionless for a second as the three other men watched him. Bucky finished chewing and swallowed as he contemplated whether he might have just offended the cook, and was about to utter an apology. Pierre embraced Bucky in a tight hug before he could, his arms carefully placed so as not to squish the boys wings. Bucky chuckled as he gently patted the older man's back. Pierre released Bucky and looked him in the eye.

"Promise me you will leave that place." Pierre was dead serious. "I don't care how well they pay, it's no place for a young man to waste his life away."

Bucky became serious too. He looked at Steve, long and hard. Steve lifted an eyebrow at him, wondering what was going through friend's his mind.

"We'll see, Pierre." Bucky said, looking back at the older man. "But you see, I'm not there because I need to be. I'm there because others need me to be."

Pierre nodded and let Bucky sit back down. Carlo put a hand on his partner's shoulder and looked at the two boys.

"We love seeing you boys, and we really appreciate your generosity," Carlo's tone was sad. "But after you leave, we must ask that you don't come back here. At least, not till things get better."

Steve and Bucky nodded, understanding the financial risk the two men are taking by letting Bucky use their services. It's nothing personal. The two men headed back to the kitchen without another word.

Bucky ate the whole thing in a matter of minutes. Steve only got a couple of bites in before the carbs set in, and he suddenly felt full. His stomach had gotten so used to scarce amounts of food, it didn't know what to do with the extra sustenance. Bucky tried to coax him into eating more, but Steve was adamant about letting Bucky get his fill. "You'll use it better than I will," Steve said. Bucky eventually ate the rest of Steve's piece as well, and he already looked much better by the time they were done. There was a little more color in his cheeks, a little more strength in his wings. Bucky leaned back and put his hands over his stomach, letting out a content sigh. He looked like he was about to slip into the best food-coma of his life.

"Better?" Steve asked with an amused grin.

"Much better." Bucky laughed. "There's only so much that Ms. Turner's cookies can do."

"We should get going." Steve stood, seeing that the other patrons were still giving Bucky and him looks. Bucky waved at Steve, motioning for him to sit back down so he could digest a little. Steve remained standing, monitoring the joint. Everybody he made eye contact with quickly looked away. Bucky watched him, slightly entertained. A sly grin crept on his face, as he decided this would be the perfect time to mess with Steve.

Clasping his hands over his head, Bucky stretched. His wings spread apart slowly, all twelve feet taking up all the room in the small café. They quivered with his rippling muscles, making the feathers shimmer in brown and white waves. The longest of his flight feathers touched the floor. Steve started at the sight, knowing that Bucky was doing this on purpose. He heard people giving small gasps of wonder and awe. Annoyed, Steve cleared his throat loudly. Bucky just arched his back against the chair he was sitting in, making his spine crack. He shifted his wings up and out, displaying them fully for all to see.

"Bucky." Steve said flatly.

Bucky snapped his wings shut, sending little gusts of wind in either direction. He leaned forward and stood out of his chair. He headed for the door, eyes straight forward. The grin on his face was barely concealed. Steve followed in a huff, but the damage had been done. Everybody in the café was watching them leave, and the quiet that Bucky had caused was almost too loud. When Steve got outside, Bucky was standing by the curb, a huge smile on his face. Steve stood beside him sighed, crossing his arms. His stomach ached a little, but it was a good ache.

"You know you look stupid when you do that." Steve grumbled.

"I think those nice people in there would disagree." Bucky was so pleased with himself. "Now they've seen something they might never see again, thanks to me."

Steve rolled his eyes. Winged-folk are rare, but it's not like they're endangered. Steve was just one of the few lucky people that had the curse of calling one his best friend. True, some people live their whole lives without seeing one in real life. That was without the idea that it was not uncommon for them to fly away from society - to disappear completely and never be seen again. But Steve couldn't really blame them. When there was no one around, there were no signs saying they weren't welcome. As for Bucky, he loved people and Brooklyn too much to fly away, though Steve knew that he had definitely thought about it.

"It's harmless fun, lighten up." Bucky started walking down the sidewalk. "Now come on, I've got a long day of cleaning the smoke-chute at the factory tomorrow, and we still have enough money to get a slice of pizza, and you're actually going to eat some of it this time."

* * *

A/N: Hello!

You guys will learn more about the wing!verse as we go along, but feel free to ask me any questions. Oh, and if you've never had muffaleta, you're missing out.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	2. Powder Down

August, 1929

* * *

It wasn't until Steve had known Bucky for about five years and they were both about to enter their teens that he learned that there existed a time when Bucky was wingless, flightless - a regular person, just like everybody else. Trying to imagine Bucky without wings was almost impossible for Steve, because they were such an integral part of who he was. He couldn't imagine a day where Bucky wouldn't spend hours on the weekend preening and cleaning them, making sure each feather was in its right place and that they didn't have too much dust build-up. The story of their growth both fascinated and horrified Steve, knowing that one's life could change so drastically overnight. Although, according to Bucky, it wasn't over night.

It had come up in casual conversation one day when Bucky was over at Steve's for lunch. Bucky was over at Steve's apartment all the time, because he loved the way Mrs. Rogers made her famous potato salad and baked chicken or any other kind of food. The woman had a talent of making decadent meals out of the simplest ingredients, which came in handy for hard times. And she always made extra too, like she knew Bucky was going to drop in. Eventually it had just become a given that whenever Mrs. Rogers made food, Bucky would show up like magic.

"This is delicious, Sarah." Bucky looked up at the kind woman, who smiled back down at him as she sat down at the table as well. Sarah Rogers was almost as skinny as her son, but it was not because she was unhealthy. Her spirit and attitude resonated enough strength to move a mountain. Even after Steve's father had died more than a year ago, Sarah took up the extra work in their lives needed to care for herself and her son, never complaining once about life's hardships. She had blonde hair like Steve's, but her eyes were a dark hazel that swallowed light in a strange way.

"Thank you kindly, James." Mrs. Rogers still had a trace of an Irish accent, not as prominent as it had been when she first came to America, softened through years of practice. Her hair was tied back in a bun. She looked very tired, and Steve had seen her coming down with a cold over the past few days. But she refused to rest. "You're always welcome here. But I hate to take precedence on your own family's mealtime?"

"Nah, we all usually fend for ourselves. Not to say that my mom's cooking isn't wonderful." Bucky filled his plate up again. "But she really only knows how to cook two things; beans and carrots."

"You're welcome to take any of this back home with you. We have so much extra food since Joseph passed away, and what with Steve only eating hardly more than a few bites." Mrs. Rogers said as she looked at her son, who just played with the food on his plate. She gave a small smile to Steve, then laughed as she turned back to Bucky and saw him stuff his face with meat and peas. "If you can manage to restrain yourself from eating it all."

"Will do, Sarah." Steve didn't really know why Bucky called his mom by her first name. Bucky does the same with his own mom and dad, so maybe it's just a thing within the Barnes family to address all adults casually. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Bucky noisily chowing on the chicken. Steve was about to make a crack at Bucky being a cannibal when his mom spoke up.

"So James, tell me something." Mrs. Rogers leaned forward toward the young man, who looked up at her with a his cheeks puffed with food. "When did your wings come along?"

Steve looked up too with his eyebrows quirked in confusion, thinking that his mom had asked a ridiculous question. But Bucky nodded and swallowed his food before speaking.

"About when I was five." He said, wiggling his wings against his back. "I can still remember the whole ordeal, too. It was terrifying, really. Just one normal day my back started aching, then each day after it got worse and worse until my ma took me to a doctor. Then, a few weeks later, I've two new limbs to figure out."

"Five? Really? Isn't that rather late?" Mrs. Rogers looked shocked. Bucky shrugged and made a face.

"Better late than never, I suppose." Bucky laughed. "Kind of been that way my whole life."

"Wait a minute." Steve dropped his fork and spread his fingers as the other two looked at him. "You mean you weren't born with them?"

"No, of course not." Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. "What, did you think I was? Didn't they teach you this stuff in third grade?"

"It's not his fault." Mrs. Rogers interjected. "Steven was sick a lot during grade school. He might have missed a few things."

Steve is now more confused than ever. His mom turns to him.

"All of the winged-folk are born without wings, honey." Her voice is gentle and wise. "Thank god for it, too. Birth would be so much harder if that weren't true."

"You know there's no genetic link as to why people grow wings, right?" Bucky said around a spoonful of potato salad. "It's completely random, kind of like red-hair. Winged-folk have kids that are wingless, and vice-versa, obviously. Same thing goes for the type of wings and feather color. Anybody could just grow wings one day."

"Well, that's not entirely true." Mrs. Rogers quirked her lips. "Nobody has ever grown wings past the age of six, and winged-folk are slightly more likely to bear winged-children."

"So yeah, let me tell you Stevie." Bucky sat forward in his chair, preparing his story. "This is back when my family still lived in Indiana, right? One day, I come home from school with tears streaming down my face, because my back and shoulders are hurting like a-" Bucky glanced at Mrs. Rogers. "My point is that I was in a lot of pain. Too much to be normal. But Winifred thinks it's just growing pains, gives me a pinch of opiate and sends me to bed. Some nights she would give me back massages as best as she could - and you know, I can vaguely remember her fingers pressing against something hard in my shoulders. Anyways, I would wake up the next morning feeling fine, but by the end of the day, I'm in pain again. This goes one for about a week, until even the medicine doesn't make me feel better anymore. I got weird bruises on my back that just appeared out of nowhere, and Becky had to help me convince my parents that I wasn't being abused at school."

"Did your mom know what was happening?" Steve is captivated. It was like finding out his best friend was a superhero.

"I think she and George might have suspected, but they weren't sure until she finally took me to the doctor." Bucky looked down. "Doc knew what was going on right away though, but he still did the x-ray. I got to see it too, since the Doc used it to explain what was happening to me, 'cause I was young and had no idea what was going on. It was weird, let me tell you, seeing the bones and all, just kinda waiting there underneath my skin. You know when I was five, I hadn't even seen so much as a picture of winged-folk? I had heard of them in passing, but they weren't _real_ to me yet."

Steve blinked at his friend in horror. Bucky must have been terrified, being completely unaware of what was happening to him. Steve couldn't even imagine what he would have done in that situation, what he would have thought was happening. Maybe that he was dying, or losing his mind. How did the winged-folk get past an experience like that? Just the thought of bone and muscle growing and shaping under his skin was enough to make his skin crawl. It almost made Steve glad he didn't have wings.

"What happened then?"

"Well obviously they took me to SAA Headquarters or whatever down in Atlanta. Yeah, that was my first big trip. I didn't get to see much of the countryside though, since I was sleeping the whole time. Being in pain is exhausting, let me tell you. It was such a long trip that when we got there, my wings were already starting to separate from my back." Bucky shivered, as if remembering the pain. "They were expecting me at the SAA, of course."

"No yeah, of course." Steve looked at his mom, who didn't looked as surprised as he did. He hoped the look on his face wasn't showing just how confused he was.

"Yeah, well you know." Bucky shifted in his seat, fluffing one wing with a quick shake. "I had all the signs when I was born; structures in my bones, the extra pectoral muscles, all of it. The only things missing were the wings themselves. They were practically waiting for me when George carried me through that door."

"Every baby is checked for these… early development signs." Mrs. Rogers spoke up, seeing that Steve was even more confused with every word Bucky spoke. "I went through all of this as well, when I had you."

"And did I have any…?" Steve couldn't believe his mother never told him any of this before.

"You had a socket on your left shoulder blade, but that was it." Mrs. Rogers looked down. "The doctors said it was very unlikely you would develop any further."

"And trust me, you don't want to." Bucky sneered at the memory in his head. "There's not a whole lot they do for you at the SAA when growing wings, let me tell you. They just let the whole thing happen naturally, try to make it easy for you. And the way they 'make it easy for you' is by basically forcing you into a coma so your body can do its thing. They only woke me up to eat, drink, and do my business and every time I did wake up it hurt to breath. I was in and out of it for about three weeks, or so they told me. It's all just one big blur, really. But Winifred never left my side, and even brought Becky and the new baby to come visit me one time."

Steve could only imagine what Bucky's little siblings thought about their oldest brother going through such a change. Becky would have cried, definitely. Of all the people in his family, Bucky was closest with his sister. Steve thought Bucky was very lucky in that aspect.

"Finally, one day I wake up and I'm not in pain." Bucky's voice has gone soft as he stands up, bringing his wings forward so he and the Rogers' can see them. He puts one hands to his feathers, softly touching the delicate fibers "And let me tell you Steve, I was pretty shocked."

Steve stared at the wings; they were shaped like arms, with a shoulder, elbow and a wrist, and a little alula appendage in place of a thumb. But the formation of the bones was much longer and skinnier than that of a normal arm. Bucky's feathers were fantastically patterned - brown on top, but creamy white on the underside. The longest flight feathers and secondary feathers are blotched with white spots on the edges, giving them a striped look when they were unfurled and a speckled appearance when folded on his back. Steve was trying to picture it in his head, what it must be like to wake up one day and suddenly have-

"Freaking things were covered in down, for god's sake." Bucky snapped his wings shut. "Like a baby chicken; fluffy, soft, and completely useless."

Steve paused, staring at Bucky as a new image entered his head. Bucky with little cherub wings that were too small for his body. He snickered, then chuckled, then couldn't stop laughing. His mom and Bucky started laughing, too. Bucky had to sit down, wiping a tear from his eye. He smiled at the tabletop as the laughter died down, eyes far away.

"Luckily, they didn't let me leave the building until my first molt and actual feathers grew in." Bucky's smile faded a little. "When I came home, the little ones couldn't stop staring at me. You would think that they had never met me before. But they got over it really quick. They wanted to pet and play with my wings, but the people at the SAA told me to never let anybody touch them because of the oil. If the oil gets brushed off, the feathers can split and you can't fly properly, nevermind that it makes your feathers look ruddy and gross. They didn't tell me a lot, actually. They basically gave me a manual on wing care then kicked me out and said 'good luck'."

Steve let Bucky's story settle in his mind. He had many questions, but there was one that picked at him more than the others. He was hesitant to ask, fearing the answer, but he needed to know.

"Has anybody ever died?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "From growing wings?"

Bucky and Mrs. Rogers both looked to him, but neither said anything. Mrs. Rogers then looked to Bucky, but he had cast his gaze down to his plate, though he wasn't eating. She looked back to Steve then, perhaps a little cross with her son for broaching such a tender subject. He should have waited until Bucky had left. But practicality was a trait that Steve had _not_ inherited from her. However, it would be unbecoming to simply dismiss the question. Bucky was an understanding lad.

"They don't so much anymore." Mrs. Rogers said slowly. "But before we had the medicine we do now, boys and girls had to suffer through the entire process completely conscious, within their own homes. Sometimes...the pain could be too much. It's not easy, what they have to go through. They say the entire ordeal is about as painful as sawing off your own foot."

"That sounds about accurate, I think." Bucky said as he nodded in agreement. "Only it lasts a lot longer."

"There are some places in the world where that is still the only way it is done." Mrs. Rogers sighed. "But children are resilient, more so than we give them credit for. They're growing bodies make them more springy, more willing to undergo the change."

"Yeah, and the danger passes once the feathers come in." Bucky sat up again. "So don't worry about me, Steve. I'm good."

"And can I just say that you have some lovely plumage, Bucky." Mrs. Rogers put a hand on the young man's shoulder, hurrying to change the subject. "Steve tells me that you preen almost everyday, but if you don't mind me telling you, you actually don't need oil. You see this?" Mrs. Rogers pointed to a spot on Bucky's right wing where it connected to his back. Steve squinted his eyes at the spot, barely making out the silvery dust on the feathers. "This is powder down. Some of your feathers dissolve into a coating, and it works the same as oil, if not better."

"Powder down...?" Now it was Bucky's turn to be confused. "I've never heard of that."

Mrs. Rogers reached for one of Bucky's wings, but stopped short. "May I?" Bucky nodded, extending his wing closer to her. Mrs. Rogers moved her fingers in between the feathers carefully, digging around in the thick of the wing. When she took her hand back, her fingertips were coated in a white powdery substance. "You have small down feathers under your covert feathers that have the single purpose of disintegrating into this. It's waterproof, and keeps your wings protected from heat and dirt."

"Really? I always thought my feathers just attracted insane amounts of dirt." Bucky inspected his wings for a few seconds then turned back to Mrs. Rogers. "You know an awful lot about this stuff, Sarah. Where did you learn?"

"My father was a falconer back in Galway. I used to watch him with his prized birds. He might have trained me a little, too." Mrs. Rogers winked. "But he also helped many of the winged-folk back home learn about themselves. He worked for the Irish equivalent of the SAA before he retired. I picked up a few things."

"Is that so?" Bucky's eyes brightened. "Then do you think you could tell me what kind of wings I got?"

Mrs. Rogers was quiet as she took in the details of Bucky's wings as he opened them for her. The things are so goddamn big, Steve thought. Bucky had looked into finding the bird of his wings quite a bit when they were both younger, and while there were some winged-folk who managed to find the bird that they shared a natural affinity with, many had no such luck - including Bucky. It wasn't terribly important to know, but it provided a sense of self, like a completeness of identity. To know the bird of your wing was to know yourself. If there weren't more than 9,000 species of birds in the world, it might have been easier to figure out.

"It's hard to say." Mrs. Rogers yawned. "Only certain types of birds make powder down. Falcons, hawks, parrots, pigeons... but if I had to guess, it would probably be some kind of owl, since your flight feathers are so long and narrow. They're perfect for silent, long flight."

Bucky turned to Steve, a wide smile on his face. "No wonder I like your family so much. My family don't know jack about birds."

"Including how to cook them, apparently." Steve looked down at the plate of bones in front of Bucky.

Steve asked Bucky many questions about when his wings grew for many years after that. Was there surgery involved? No, don't think so. How did the muscles develop? They were already there, just didn't have anything to attach to. Was that when you had to register with the SAA? No, that was about a year later when he had learned how to fly. Did he remember what it was like to be wingless? Were his wings the reason his family had moved to New York? Had he ever thought about having them cut? Jesus Christ, Steve, yes now shut up.

* * *

A/N: As a note, I have not read the comics. I have only seen the movies. I look up certain things on the numerous Marvel Wikis that are out there to get details that they don't include in the movies. But they did point out that Bucky was the oldest of four, and I know one of his siblings was named Rebecca. Did you know Steve had a little brother in one arc? But I'm keeping it simple. Or, you know, simple-ish.

If you can guess what kind of wings Bucky has, you get props. Hint: it has to do with the bird in the cover image.

Note: This chapter has been edited, given a little more context than before.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	3. Fingernails

June, 1935

* * *

Bucky was not a hostile person. He was charming to the ladies and polite to his elders and stood up for himself and those he cared about, but he had never gotten into fist fights or brawls unless he absolutely had to. In general, he was a pretty happy guy that many people wanted to befriend and many girls wanted to date. But despite this, Bucky had a dark side. It was very rarely brought to light, and even Steve wasn't entirely sure when it was. As they both reached their late teens, they had decided to start boxing lessons at their local gym, Goldie's. Steve had wanted to build some muscle and was a natural at it despite his physical limitations, but Bucky... Bucky was fierce, and he tore through his sparing opponents like they were made of cheese. Especially the ones that threw distasteful slurs at him as soon as he stepped in the ring. It was there that Steve had seen Bucky's "dark side" for the first time. It was a sharp, menacing, and violent coldness that scared the living daylights out of him and any who watched. But what really concerned Steve was Bucky's apparent _enjoyment_ of it. Bucky would get so caught up in the lesson or the fight that he didn't know when to stop. He had been dragged off his opponent more than once and threatened to be kicked out. It never became a real problem, but Steve still pitied any soul that thought they could survive a round with his winged-friend.

Steve wasn't kidding himself or anybody by thinking that he was a cautious person. He got in fights. He got in fights a _lot_. The kid was down a back alley getting his ass kicked just about every other day, hence the boxing lessons. Sometimes Bucky would find him and intervene - sometimes he wouldn't come along until after Steve had been thrown in the trash. Bucky hated it too. He insisted that he wasn't a fighter, like Steve. He preferred to use his wit and sarcasm to just humiliate the person into going away - and Steve honestly couldn't decide if that was a better method or not. But when he had to, Bucky would knock a few skulls so Steve wouldn't get his own split open, which was why he also agreed to boxing lessons. Life was funny like that.

But Steve had gone too far this time. A few guys were hassling a young girl, and she clearly wasn't interested. It had gotten to the point where they had surrounded her, and the fear on her face made Steve's gut roil with disdain for the men. They needed to be stopped, so Steve stepped in. Next thing he knew, he was backed up against the wall between an old apartment complex and a bank, the five men surrounding him now and looking very displeased, and Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

"Five against one, yeah that's completely fair." Steve raised his fists. He hated that he could feel his heart pounding already. But he couldn't say that he didn't see this coming.

"Big mouth for such a little runt." The guy in the center, who had a scar across his forehead, stepped forward. "Maybe it's time you learned to keep that mouth shut."

He took another step forward and shoved Steve hard, making him stumble against the bricks. Before he could scramble to his feet, a man to his left in a yellowish-green jacket - Steve had learned to interpret that color as _red_ \- grabbed him by the lapels and lifted him off the ground. He slammed Steve against the wall again, cracking the back of his head against the bricks. Steve's head became painfully numb and the edges of his vision blurred. His feet weren't even touching the ground.

"Easy there, Jethro." The guy with the scar said as he came up beside them. "I want this punk to remember this."

Steve grabbed the hand grasping his clothes. Grunting, he twisted the man's wrist as far and as hard as he could. He heard a pop and Jethro growled in pain. He quickly dropped Steve, who landed on his feet and immediately went with a right hook toward scar-head's face. But he never hit his mark. Another guy grabbed his arms and held them behind his back, effectively holding Steve in place by wrenching his shoulders back.

"Let him have it, Lance." The guy laughed as Steve struggled against him, but he wasn't budging.

Lance grinned as he advanced on Steve, towering over him. Steve could do nothing but glare up at him. He punched Steve in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Then the face, and the face again. The other three were cheering him on loudly, moving their bodies in an aggressive fashion as the beating continued. Steve rolled his eyes under the black eye that will definitely be there tomorrow. At some point there was blood gushing out of his nose a tooth might have gotten loose, but Steve was too delirious from pain to be sure. He was just starting to go weak in his knees when his ears managed to pick up the unmistakable sound of feathers brushing against each other over the cacophony of the other boys.

"HEY!"

The punching and cheering ceased as they all look up. Steve somehow managed to turn his head toward the sky, and sure enough, he saw the silhouette of wings against the sun. Bucky dropped down into the alley, landing in a half-crouch with all eyes suddenly on him. He kept his wings partially unfurled as he stood up straight, trying to make himself look bigger than he was. He didn't have to try very hard. He already looked extremely pissed off, and the soot on his skin and wings greatly added to the effect. His sharp blue eyes were striking against his dirty face.

"Hey Buck." Steve smiled even though his lip has gond numb. "Did you just get off of work?"

"Shut up, Steve." Bucky sneered at the younger man. Steve knew Bucky was just irritated because this was actually the second time this had happened today. The first time, Bucky managed to swoop in and snatch Steve away before the beating could start.

"This don't concern you, featherhead." Lance tilted his chin and looked down his nose at Bucky. "Why don't you just move along, or we might decide to see if your bones really are hollow for ourselves."

"You've had your fun, now let the kid go." Bucky started walking toward Steve slowly, still being held in a stranglehold. "This doesn't have to get any worse."

Lance glared at Bucky for a few moments. Then his features softened and he put a smile that just might have been kind on his face.

"Let it never be said that I am not a reasonable person." Lance looked at the guy holding Steve. "Let him go, Franky."

Steve couldn't see the man's face, but by the way he hesitated, he could tell that Franky was as surprised as Steve was. He let go of Steve, walking over to stand behind Lance with the rest of his friends. Steve brushed off his sleeves and straightened his coat as he sheepishly walked over to Bucky, who still looked pissed.

"I had them on the ropes." Steve said without meeting Bucky's glare, absently brushing off his shirt.

Bucky didn't say a word as he grabbed Steve by the chin and forced his head up. Bucky's eyes roamed Steve's face, taking in the purple eye, the split lip, and the bruise on his cheek. He pulled a rag from his back pocket and pressed it to Steve's nose. Steve winced at the pressure, feeling more blood drip down his nose. He lifted a hand up and held the rag in place, noting that the cloth smelled like ash. Bucky surveyed the rest of Steve's body, seeing how his friend was favoring his left side.

"Anything broken?"

Steve took a deep breath, feeling the muscles on his chest and stomach ache, and shook his head. Bucky mumbled a curse at Steve as he wheeled his friend around and embraced Steve under his arms, turning his eyes toward the sky. Steve can tell that he's going to get a very stern lecture for this. Just before Bucky took off, Steve looked over his shoulder and behind Bucky, back at Lance and his friends. Lance's smile had turned from hospitable to cruel, and Steve knew he was up to something. Then he realized that Jethro wasn't standing with Lance.

Bucky jumped and thrust his wings down at the same time, effectively giving them plenty of lift for a take off. He and Steve were about five feet off the ground when, suddenly, Bucky jerked to the side. Bucky howled in Steve's ear as they both plummet back to the ground. Growling loudly, Bucky maneuvered his body so that he was underneath Steve when they crashed back to the cement. Steve head was cushioned by Bucky's chest, but the impact caused his arms to quickly released the smaller man. Steve scrambled to his feet, worry and confusion pounding in his chest. Bucky was lying on his back, tears at the edge of his eyes which were fogged with pain. Steve wasn't sure what was wrong until he heard laughter.

Spinning around, he saw Jethro with a stupid grin on his face as he held up a handful of sooty brown and white broken feathers. Lance and his buddies howled with amusement. Steve spun back to Bucky and scanned his wings. He spotted a large gap in the flight feathers of his right wing where the feathers had been ripped out. He could even see that the wing had started bleeding, blood dripping through the primaries and secondaries and onto the sidewalk. Bucky's face was strained underneath the soot from holding his breath against the pain and his fingers were curved into claws. His mouth opened into a silent scream, eyes opened but not seeing.

Steve whirled around, baring his teeth with anger. Removing the rag from his nose, Steve tossed it to the side, not caring that blood was dripping onto his shirt. He charged at the group of men, still too caught up in their laughter to see him coming. Jethro crumpled and dropped the feathers as Steve kicked him between the legs. The laughter stopped. Steve spun around and cracked Franky in the jaw with all his strength. With a small roar, Steve rammed one fist up under Lance's ribs. Lance stumbled away, but Steve could tell that he wasn't hurt that badly. He was about to kick Lance in the face while he was still doubled over, but one of the other two picked Steve up off the ground, hoisting him high over their head like a bench press, then forcefully threw him onto the ground. Steve's hip and shoulder ground painfully into the cement, and the force of the impact knocked his breath away, stunning him. A kick to the stomach quickly followed before he could recover. Steve reflexively curled into a ball as they surrounded him, assaulting him with their feet and fists. Steve arms protected his face, but he didn't have a ghost of a chance of getting back up again.

A shoe slammed into the back of his head. Steve saw a flash of white and his whole body became limp. The beating stopped, but the atmosphere of danger only thickened. Someone rolled him over so he was lying on his back looking up at the sky - a sky framed by five very angry faces. Steve smirked at the sharp pain in his chest with each shallow breath he took. Yep, something was definitely broken now. He rolled his head to the side, looking for Bucky with bleary eyes. But his winged-friend wasn't where Steve left him. Steve's heart jumped, fear trickling into his chest. Steve looked back up, opening his mouth to speak but choking on his own spit and blood. The only warning he could give came out as a strangled gurgle.

Franky was suddenly yanked away. Shortly after, Steve heard a frantic yelp followed by a sickening crunch. The others looked up from Steve, shock on their faces. Steve tried to sit up, but it hurt to move and his body wasn't listening to him. He was starting to feel tired, all energy draining from his limbs. The others left Steve. He could hear them shouting and yelling, as well as the fist-to-face pounds of brawling. Steve finally managed to roll himself over after a couple more tries, but a wave of nausea washed over him from the effort. After a few moments of catching his breath, Steve looked up.

Bucky's hair was disheveled, his bangs hanging in front of his eyes like he never allowed them to be. His teeth were bared in a beastly grimace as he dodged attacks. In his hand he had a broken piece of wood that he probably picked up from the ground by the trash, and he wielded it like a club. Franky was tossed to the side, on the ground clutching at his knee which was bent at an odd angle. Bucky's movements were extremely quick, faster than anything Steve thought was possible. Bucky usually used his wings to propel himself to dodge punches, but this was something completely different. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Bucky brought the club down on Jethro's head, knocking him out instantly. His eyes were wide, his pupils were pinpoints of black on his steel-blue irises.

Steve tried to stand again, knowing he had to make Bucky stop before he went too far. But he couldn't feel his legs, and his arms were already tired. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a harsh whisper. Bucky didn't even look at him. Sweat was mixing with the soot on his face, leaving tracks of pale on his gray face. Steve didn't know how much longer he could stay conscious. The more he tried to stay awake, the farther he slipped away. Bucky dodged a hay-maker and swung the board at the head of one of the three remaining. The board caught the boy on the neck. His eyes went wide as he stumbled away, gasping for air. Spinning away from an undercut-punch from the other man, his wings shut tight against his body, Bucky raised the board over his head and bludgeoned it down on the poor man's shoulder. There was a loud crack as the collarbone and the board both broke.

Everything was starting to go hazy for Steve. He couldn't even hold himself up anymore. Bucky threw the broken piece to the ground and immediately brought his fists up as he turned to engage Lance in fisticuffs, every bit of his training at Goldie's Boxing Gym coming out. Steve suddenly felt a massive surge of blood rush from his head, causing him to black out for an instant. When he managed to claw himself back - if only barely - Lance was on his knees in front of Bucky, his ear bleeding. Steve couldn't hear any words because his ears were ringing with rushing blood. Bucky had a split lip, too. Steve could feel he was about to black out again, and this time for good.

"Bucky, don't…" Steve reached a hand toward his friend, hardly lifted it off the ground with his fingers stretched.

Just before everything went dark, Steve saw Bucky pull his fist back. But he never saw the final blow.

Bucky had carried Steve home by foot. His wing bled the entire way, and people would pause to stare at the winged-boy that looked like he had just been through hell and the skinny kid in his arms who didn't even look alive. Some even asked if he needed help. Then they got a closer look and saw the blood spattered across his face, mixing with the black soot. Bucky didn't say anything at all and kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

Bucky wasn't able to fly for months after that, having to wait till the feathers grew back. He lost his job because of it. He was grounded, both physically and socially, since his mom threw herself into a tyraid of worry and anger when he came home the next day, having spent the night at Steve's watching over him. Those were the saddest months of Bucky's life, and the first thing he did the day his feathers were completely grown was fly for the whole day. Steve had a concussion and a broken rib, plus numerous bruises. His own mom had given him a verbal beating, and for the next half year after school or work, Steve was to come straight home and that was that.

Bucky told Steve later, when they managed to get some time to themselves, that ripping feathers out was about the same as having fingernails torn off. Steve never revealed to Bucky that he had seen what Bucky had done to those boys, after Bucky had assumed Steve had been out of it the whole time due to his own horrible beating. Bucky didn't go to boxing lessons very often after that, but Steve saw Bucky differently. He knew what Bucky was capable of. But what really stayed with Steve was the look in Bucky's eyes - how wide, and bright, and _inhuman_ they had been. Steve hated looking into those eyes, hated that they had been on his best friend who was one of the nicest people that Steve knew. He had hoped he would never have to see those eyes again - and for a long time, he didn't. And eventually the incident was faded away into a distant memory.

Until they went to fight in the war, then Steve looked into those eyes everyday.

* * *

A/N: We all know Bucky was a little trigger happy in the first movie. Don't lie to yourself. Just so you guys know, this isn't really going in any kind of order. Their ages are going to jump around. Steve's mom is sick and dying and he can't really do anything about it so he takes his frustrations onto the streets. I couldn't really find the right place to put that detail in there.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	4. Stroganoff

September, 1928

* * *

It wasn't always Bucky coming over to Steve's apartment. One time Bucky invited Steve to stay the night while his dad was out of town. The Barnes' owned a little renthouse in Northern Brooklyn, and it was just barely big enough for all of them. The neighborhood wasn't bad, but it wasn't luxurious either. Steve was ten at the time, and Bucky was half a year past eleven. Mrs. Rogers thought it was a good idea for Steve to get out of the house and be with friends, clear his head and maybe get his mind off of his father's death that was only about a month ago. Maybe he would even start to smile again, was her silent hope.

The house was small, but it was neat, tidy, and smelled like lavender, no doubt thanks to Mrs. Barnes who worked as a maid. That was the first thing that Steve noticed when he walked through the door behind Bucky. He could often smell the aromatic flower on Bucky's clothes, and Steve was starting to think he was rolling around in the stuff. Bucky would sometimes try to hide the smell by sneaking some of his father's aftershave, which made Steve dizzy. The next thing he noticed were the brightly colored walls - the entry way was papered with a purple and blue floral bouquet pattern, and the living room was painted with the color of leaves lit by the sun. It would have hurt Steve's eyes to look at it, had the paint not been faded by time and the house's occupants. Bucky took the lead as he and Steve walked through the entry way and into the rest of the open concept house - everything connected to the living room, including the kitchen and three bedrooms. Steve wondered how that worked, with the Barnes' having four kids. He figured the girls must share a room.

Bucky had three younger sisters. Rebecca, or Becky, was nine years old at the time. Becky looked almost exactly like Bucky, except her eyes were a vibrant green like her fathers. The first time Steve saw them together, he had mistaken them for twins. Kate was seven and Alana was four, both of whom resembled their mother; blue-eyed and dark-haired. It was obvious that they would become the most chased women when they were older. Sometimes Steve would walk home with Bucky and his sisters on the rare occasion that the two boys didn't go gallivanting off somewhere after school. He had come to know the three girls well, developing a bond with them very similar to the one he shared with their brother. Steve loved Bucky's sisters to death. He thought they were entertaining, witty, and adorable. They were basically three different female versions of Bucky. It made him wish he had a brother or sister.

Becky and Kate were lying on the couch while Alana scribbled on paper with a run down pencil. Bucky shouted out to the household, announcing himself and Steve from the small entryway. Kate and Becky blurted out small greetings, distracted by the books and paper they had in their laps. Alana perked up and ran to the two boys, smiling her gap-toothed smile. She cantered up to Steve, giggling. Steve gasped at her in a playful way then grabbed the small child under the arms and hoisted her up.

"Jesus, you've grown so much!" Steve groaned. "You'll be as big as me in no time."

"Not like it's gonna take long to get there." Bucky mumbled. Steve shot him a look.

Steve carried Alana as he followed Bucky through the house. It was quaint and small, but it definitely gave off that homey feeling. There was a fireplace with a few family portraits on the mantle along with a pressed feather in a frame that Steve assumed belonged to Bucky. It must have been from when he was very young because the feather was only about five inches long. His longest flight feathers were over a foot long now.

Becky and Kate looked up, smiled at Steve, then went back to their papers in front of them. Every Friday night after school, the two girls did the most uncanny thing before the weekend began; they did all of their homework. Kate was in advanced math, and Becky was taking science classes two grades ahead of her. All four of the Barnes siblings were smart, even Alana was showing much promise at her age. Another strange trait that still baffled Steve given their laid-off attitudes toward academics and the fact that neither of their parents had finished high school.

"Jim, ma says you gotta take a bath." Becky didn't look up from her homework as she addressed her brother. "She started cleaning your room and said it smelled like a chicken coop."

Bucky wrinkled his nose in annoyance. Steve hadn't seen Bucky's room yet, but it didn't surprise him to hear that it was a mess. Steve's own room had very little personal possessions; a model airplane, a snow globe depicting the Eiffel Tower, and a picture of him with his mother and father. Steve had gotten into the habit of staring at the picture for hours after he was supposed to be in bed, silent tears brimming in his eyes but never falling. He knew his family would never be that happy again. Sure, over time things would hurt less and everything would regain a semblance of normalcy - Steve knew that. But never the same as before. It made him feel empty and alone. But he had a bed and he had a dresser for his clothes, and he had his mother. That was really all he needed. At least, he tried to make himself believe that everyday. He had lost a lot of sleep in the past month.

"I thought I told Winifred to stop cleaning my room." Bucky mumbled, shaking Steve out of his small sorrows.

"Somebody's gotta do it, you lazy bum." Kate spoke up. "Your stuff would start leaking out into the hallway otherwise."

"You do kind of reek, Bucky." Steve said, crinkling his nose. Bucky glared at him and Steve hid behind Alana. Alana made spit bubbles at her brother.

"Fine, fine, I'll take a quick rinse. Where is Winifred, anyway?" Bucky looked around.

"Mama went to the store." Alana said as she wrapped her arms around Steve's neck.

"Alright." Bucky headed toward the back of the house. "Steve, make yourself at home. I'll be right back."

Bucky disappeared through the kitchen and Steve heard a door open and close. Steve sat down on the floor with Little Alana and picked up a piece of paper and one of her colored pencils. For about ten minutes, he drew and made idle chat with the Barnes Sisters, laughing at their light-hearted sarcastic banter. Kate finished her homework during that time and started drawing with them. She was learning French in school, and apparently had picked up a book from the library about Paris. Steve told her about the snow globe in his room, that his mother and father had honeymooned there. At one point Steve got up and said he was going to get a glass of water. Becky directed him to which cabinet had the cups in it.

"Don't worry, the water's filtered." Kate said. "At least, none of us have gotten lead poisoning yet."

Steve leaned against the counter as he drank, staring out the window into the small backyard. The light caught a sudden, small spray of water. Steve got up and peeked out the window. Bucky was standing in the yard facing away from the house, stripped down to his underwear. He was using the garden hose to splash water over his wings. Steve watched as Bucky's feathers separated themselves from each other, letting the water seep down into them, and then stiffen and shake the water away.

It was a fascinating process, one that Bucky repeated over and over again until the water he shook from his wings became clear instead of silvery-brown. Bucky turned the water off and walked out farther into the yard, spreading his wings out into the sunshine. The wings themselves spanned out to a good ten or twelve feet, one wing being as long as Bucky was tall. It was amazing Bucky was able to bunch up his wings to be so small. But wings were known to grow faster than the person they were attached to, which was where the saying "grow into your wings" came from. Bucky's feathers were semi-transparent in the sunlight, water dripping off of them and onto the grass below. Steve didn't realize that he had been watching Bucky for a good five minutes until Bucky turned around and started heading back into the house.

Steve spun away from the sink and quickly walked back into the living room, feeling slightly guilty about invading Bucky's privacy like that. He sat down with Alana without a sound, hoping his blush wasn't too noticeable, and quickly picked up his pencil and began drawing again. He heard the back door creak open and slam closed. Bucky walked in with pants on and his shirt clutched in his hand. He paused and unfurled one wing over Becky's head and shook it, causing small droplets of water to fall on her face and hair.

"Buzz off, would ya?" Becky wiped a hand over her face. "Some of us actually care about our grades."

"Pardon me, future madam President." Bucky smiled at Steve and rolled his eyes as he sat down. "I just gotta oil my wings then we can have some fun, okay Stevie?"

It was then that Steve noticed the bottle of dark liquid in Bucky's other hand. Alana jumped up and ran to her brother's side.

"Can I help, Jem?" Her eyes were the size of dinner plates.

Bucky smiled and uncorked the bottle. "Remember Ally, we can't get any on the floor, all right?" Alana nodded her head vigorously as she held out her hand. Bucky carefully dropped a small amount onto Alana's palm, which she rubbed between her hands, giggling at the gooey sensation as she walked behind her older brother to get the small feathers near his back that he couldn't reach easily. Bucky did the same, bringing his wings around in front of him. He began combing his fingers through his feathers, careful to dig his fingers between the smaller ones all the way to the downy feathers next to the skin. Alana stood behind him, quiet, strangely captivated by the feathers. Steve watched for a while, then grabbed a pencil and paper and sketched the two. He wasn't the best artist in the world, but he wasn't bad.

"Jem," Alana petted Bucky's feathers gently. "When am I gonna get my wings?"

Everybody stopped and looked up at that. Bucky looked to Becky, who just spread her hands and shrugged. He then looked to Steve. Steve didn't have an answer either. Should he tell the girl that she probably wasn't going to grow wings? Would she understand or would it only upset her? Bucky swallowed as he chose his words carefully.

"Well, Ally, you'll just have to find out for yourself when you're older." Bucky looked over his shoulder and grinned at Alana. "In the meantime, you can use mine instead, whenever you want." Alana seemed satisfied with that answer.

The sound of the front door opening and closing caught everyone's attention. Everybody looked up as Mrs. Barnes walked through the door, looking tired. She shouted hello to the house, then sighed and started taking her coat off when she finally looked up.

"Oh, Steve you're here!" She smiled at him. "I thought you weren't coming until Friday." Despite her Polish accent, Mrs. Barnes was in fact a second generation American. She inherited the language from her parents and also insisted on passing it to her children as well. Bucky tended to mumble to himself in Polish, sometimes. He always caught himself and apologized, although Steve didn't understand why. Heck, Steve adopted an Irish accent when he was angry or excited and sometimes spoke to his parents in Gaelic, and he wasn't ashamed. Bucky gave him a lot of crap for it, too.

"Winifred, it is Friday." Bucky stated with indifference.

Mrs. Barnes' mouth hung open, as if she was just now realizing what day it was. Alana abandoned Bucky's wings and sidled up to her mom, tugging on her dress with her oily fingers. Mrs. Barnes looked down at her youngest daughter and picked her up.

"Well we're glad to have you Steve." A smile returned to her face. "We'll be having dinner shortly, so James you make sure your room is good and spotless. I don't want our guest sleeping in that squalor that you call a living space."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he continued oiling his feathers. "What is for dinner? More bread and vegetable soup?"

Mrs. Barnes sneered at her son as she carried Alana into the kitchen. Steve watched the two with amusement. Even though mother and son seemed to not get along, Steve knew that Bucky's apple had fallen right next to Mrs. Barnes' tree. Bucky wiped his fingers on his pants, fluffed his feathers a few times, and stood up. He moved his wings back and forth to help them dry faster as he walked into his room, the last room in the house. He pulled his shirt over his head, leaving the button snaps of the wing slits undone.

"Don't wait up, Stevie." He said with a wave over his shoulder.

Steve followed the rest of the family into the kitchen, where Mrs. Barnes pulled out a pound of beef, noodles, and mushrooms.

"What's all this for, ma?" Becky asked as she and Kate put on aprons to help with making the meal. Steve washed his hands in the sink and rolled up his sleeves, remembering his manners to offer to help with dinner.

Mrs. Barnes smiled down at her daughter. "My parents used to make this all the time whenever they were homesick and had just enough money to get the ingredients. Beef Stroganoff. Becky, Kate, pay close attention, because you are going to cook this for your children someday."

When the meal was prepared, the kitchen was filled with the aromatic scent of the Smetana sauce that Mrs. Barnes had made herself. Steve was actually impressed, given how Bucky always seemed to complain about his mother's cooking. This must not have happened often, because Becky and Kate stared at the steaming bowl like starved wolves. Just before everybody sat down, Bucky walked into the room.

"What in the world is that smell?" Bucky licked his lips as he entered the kitchen with a fresh shirt on. He froze as he saw the dining room table set with place setting and a large bowl of hot stroganoff sitting in the middle.

"Dad's not going to like this." Bucky's voice was very low.

"You're father isn't here." Mrs. Barnes chided. "And you should let me handle him. Besides, we have a guest. It is our responsibility to make sure he gets a good meal."

George Barnes was a military man - or at least he had been. A veteran of the Great War, he had come home with a couple commendable awards for his service and a sizeable supply of bad memories. Bucky had been born shortly before the war had ended, and when Mrs. Barnes had handed him his newborn son, the man wept. At least, that was what Bucky had been told by his mother. Steve had met Mr. Barnes once before; he was a nice man, but it was obvious that the war had hardened him and it seemed he had one or two demons on his back. He loved his wife and his children, but he was absent from their lives fairly frequently. Steve wasn't sure what Mr. Barnes did now. Bucky didn't talk about it.

Bucky only hesitated for a moment before he joined the rest of the family at the dinner table. The rest of the evening was filled with hearty conversation, each of the Barnes' telling stories that Steve had only heard from Bucky's point of view. The family atmosphere was both comforting and agonizing for Steve. The love and laughter around the table was so familiar and easy for Steve to immerse himself in, but he couldn't help but think that his own family would never have this same security again. It was knowing that fact that kept Steve solemn and quiet, even though he really did try to be a good guest and partake in the conversations. He tried telling stories about his own family, but there wasn't one he could think of that didn't remind him of his father. Now gone forever. Mrs. Barnes was very gracious about it, and made sure he ate all the food on his plate and distracted him with questions about himself and school. Steve appreciated it, even though he still didn't say much. But he wasn't the only one. Bucky was tense, Steve could feel it. He shifted in his seat, jiggled his leg, and drummed his fingers. But this wasn't just Bucky being fidgety. He was anxious. Steve couldn't figure out why.

After the meal, Steve and Bucky offered to help clean the kitchen, but Mrs. Barnes insisted that she had it covered. Steve followed Bucky out into the backyard, breathing in the heavy summer evening air. A lone peach tree grew in a corner of the backyard that Steve had not seen before, well watered and bearing fruit. A small swing hung from a limb. It wasn't long before Steve was sitting on the swing, and Bucky was roosted on another limb in the tree, and they were talking about things they could only talk about when they thought they were alone; what they wanted to be when they grew up, where they would like to travel, whether or not they wanted to get married, how Bucky totally had a crush on Suzie Collins in their English class. Jesting and teasing each other with made up games and stories as if the world didn't matter - it helped Steve regained a sense of normalcy in his life.

Eventually it became dark enough that Steve couldn't even see Bucky up in the tree. They went inside and Steve finally got to see Bucky's room. It was small, but it had a closet, its own bathroom, and a desk. No pictures hung on the wall, but there was a map of the night sky hanging over the desk. The bed took up most of the floor space, but Steve figured that made sense for someone with wings. The pillows and blankets were even ringed around the bed in a nest fashion. Extra blankets and pillows had been set out for Steve to make a comfortable palate on the floor. When the boys were cozy in bed, they resumed their conversation from outside until their words became slurred with sleep and they drifted off in the middle of the topic of space travel.

Steve was woken by a loud crash and shouting, shattering his dreams in the worst way possible. Judging by the light coming in through the window, Steve had to guess that it was about 8:00 in the morning.

"Ah hell, he got home early." Steve heard Bucky mumble from his bed. One of his wings was hanging off the bed and over Steve's head. The wing retracted and Steve saw Bucky sit up in bed, wiping a hand over his eyes. "Get your clothes on, Stevie. Party's over."

After Steve and Bucky were both dressed, Bucky opened his bedroom window and crawled out. The two trotted away from the house until they could no longer hear the shouting from Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. They slowed to a walk and continued in silence.

"Sorry you had to wake up to that." Bucky finally said.

"Hey, it happens. My parents fight all the time... or they used to." That was a lie.

"George can just be really stubborn sometimes." Bucky kept his gaze on the sidewalk. "If he had been here, you probably wouldn't have been able to come over."

"Bucky, you don't have to explain. I understand." Steve put a hand on Bucky's arm. "Believe it or not, your family isn't the only one that has issues every now and then."

Bucky smirked, but still didn't meet Steve's eyes. When they got back to Steve's apartment, Mrs. Rogers hadn't left for work yet. She was surprised to see her son back so early, and Steve didn't really give a reason why when she asked. She offered to make breakfast for the two before she had to leave.

"Thanks, Sarah, but I gotta get back home." Bucky said. "I gotta… make sure my ma's okay. But maybe I could use your fire escape?"

Mrs. Rogers stared at Bucky for a few seconds, looking for something but Steve didn't know what. Eventually she opened the door and Bucky crossed the living space to the window that lead to the fire escape. Steve followed, leaning against the sill as Bucky braced himself on top of the railing.

"Tell your mom that I really appreciated her having me over." Steve said. Bucky nodded, spreading his wings. His eyes were determined and full of worry.

"I'll see you on Monday, Steve." Bucky leapt from the fire escape, catching the wind and flapping hard, flying faster than he normally would back home.

* * *

A/N: I'm not implying anything, I just wanted to present what I think Bucky's family is like since we already met Steve's. I know it's been a while, but I thought I'd crank this out.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	5. Rules Don't Apply

July, 1934

* * *

The first time Steve and Bucky went flying, it was a gift for Steve's sixteenth birthday. Having a birthday during the summer had its ups and downs. Having a birthday on the same day as the country you lived in also had its consequences. People were in their backyards barbequing, kids were playing with sparklers, and the atmosphere in Brooklyn was electric. Mrs. Rogers and him had just finished eating their annual Fourth of July/Happy Birthday lunch feast when Steve had excused himself. He didn't tell his mother about Bucky's gift, knowing she would forbid him without a second thought. But he did tell her that he was going to get their spot on the rooftop ready for when they went up there later in the evening to watch the fireworks. As his mother started the dishes, Steve climbed out the window and onto the fire escape.

Of course, Steve was incredibly nervous, his mind fixating on what could possibly go wrong. He wasn't too fond of heights and falling wasn't really something he enjoyed doing. But he trusted Bucky, who took his sisters flying all the time and insisted on an experience he would never forget. Bucky had told Steve to meet him on the roof of the apartment building he lived in at noon. As Steve stood alone on the roof, his heart pounded in his chest. Could he trust Bucky to not let him fall? Was Bucky even allowed to fly with a passenger? Was Steve light enough to carry? What if Bucky dropped him? What if-

Steve heard the whoosh of wings and two seconds later, Bucky landed in front of him. His eyes were wide and excited, he gripped the harness that he had made to fly his sisters around in his hand. It wasn't a special harness, just an extra thick rope tied onto itself in a few loops.

"Today's the day, Stevie!" Bucky yelled. "This is gonna be the best birthday gift you'll ever receive."

"Bucky, I'm having second thoughts." Steve wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. "How do you know I'm not too heavy?"

"When we're in the air, that doesn't really matter. I promise you, I'm stronger than gravity. Besides," Bucky shrugged. "You weigh about the same as my sisters, and I can get them off the ground just fine."

"I'm just not sure if I'm ready for this..."

"Becky and Kate did too, but now they can't get enough of it." Bucky waved it off. He held out the harness. "Okay, so you gotta put your arms through here-"

"Bucky!" His friend froze and looked up, all excitement fading quickly as he saw the look on Steve's face.

"Bucky I'm…" Steve couldn't finish, looking away from his friend in shame. God dammit, he was shaking._ I'm scared_. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky's wings collapse a little in disappointment.

"Hey, Steve," Bucky's voice was gentle. "It's okay. It took Kate three tries and convincing from Becky before she finally let me fly with her."

Bucky dropped the harness and put his hands on Steve's shoulders, drawing his gaze back. Bucky pushed down, bringing them both to sit down on the gravel covered roof. Steve wringed his hands in front of him.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Buck, I just-"

"Humans weren't meant to fly." Bucky interjected. Steve stopped at that. Bucky chuckled at his friend's confusion. "That might not be what you think it is, but deep down that's where your fear is coming from. In a subtle way, your mind is reminding you that you don't have wings, so the sky is not a place where you belong. It's completely rational, so don't feel too bad."

Steve pondered that for a little while, nodding when he decided that it made sense. But it didn't help his fear... in fact it made him feel a little guilty. Ever since he had met Bucky, Steve had wanted nothing more than to make Bucky feel like he had a genuine friend in this world. Despite his age, Bucky had experienced his fair share of discrimination because of his wings. Steve never understood why people were so bitter towards the winged-folk. So when he and Bucky became friends, he told himself that he would never make Bucky feel bad about who he was. Yet here he was, refusing to take part in the biggest part of Bucky's life because he was scared. It left a bad taste in Steve's mouth.

Bucky smiled and sat back, looking up at the clouds. "Steve, I'm going to tell you something that I haven't told anybody. Not even my sisters."

Steve perked an eyebrow in surprise. Bucky trusted his sisters with everything.

"When Ms. Turner was teaching me how to fly, I was too scared to make my first jump." Bucky looked at Steve, his eyes bright. "It took me five times before I finally did. Five times, and I was still scared, even though my wings were fully grown and I knew deep down that I was made to fly."

Steve stared at his friend. Bucky was insane in the air, pulling himself out of steep dives, flying through narrow corridors, all the way up to the clouds and inches above the ground. He flew so recklessly and was so comfortable in the air that it was impossible for Steve to see Bucky hesitate to jump off a ledge, to be scared of flying.

"Gravity is a powerful thing," Bucky continued. "I had spent the first six years of my life tied to the ground, and suddenly I was expected to be more powerful than the most powerful thing on earth. Six years old, and I was expected to do the thing that most humans only dream of…that's a lot of pressure."

"How did you get over it?" Steve said after a moment of silence.

"I finally came to terms with the fact that…I wasn't exactly human anymore." Bucky stood up, brushing his pants off. "The rules of man didn't apply to me anymore. I also accepted that lots of people don't like that about me. But you know what? I can live with that."

Bucky held his hand out. Steve grabbed it and let Bucky pull him to his feet. But even after Steve was standing, Bucky still didn't let go. Steve looked up into Bucky's face, his confident smile, his understanding eyes and the strength of his hand resonating to Steve in a way that never had before.

"So you shouldn't be sorry for being scared, okay?" Bucky squeezed his hand again. "I'm asking you to defy your sense of self-preservation, and unless you're like Ally, who couldn't wait to go flying, then that's not easy to do. It's in your nature, and I respect that."

Bucky let go and turned to pick up the harness. In that moment, Bucky's wings stuck out to Steve. Long and powerful, sturdy and flexible at the same time, and so beautiful. Steve realized what a miracle it was that Bucky even existed. Only one in every ten-thousand people had wings, meaning only about twelve-thousand people in America, and one of them happened to live in Brooklyn. And he happened to be Steve's best friend. Bucky was right, he wasn't exactly human, and Steve had been a fool to think that he could treat him like one. If Bucky could get over his fear of flying, then Steve sure as hell could. After all, the rules didn't apply to them.

"So I understand if you want to put this off for some other time." Bucky said as he turned back to Steve. "How about instead we go grab ourselves some sparkl-"

"Let's do it." Steve interrupted. Bucky froze and stared at Steve, unsure of what he was really saying. Steve took a deep breath. "You've sold me. Let's go flying."

Bucky gasped, his excitement spiking once again. "Seriously?!"

"Seriously, you gravity defying maniac."

Steve smiled as Bucky threw both his arms and his wings around him. Bucky then pulled away as he explained how the harness worked, showing Steve where to put his arms. Steve slipped his arms through the ropes and Bucky tightened them around his shoulders. Both of them walked over to the edge of the roof, and with each step, Steve's excitement also grew. Steve stepped up to the ledge as Bucky lifted his part of the harness over his head and under his arms, tightening the rope just above his wings.

"You ready?" Bucky said in his ear has he wrapped his arms around Steve. Bucky squeezed him tight, more out of reassurance than necessity.

Steve looked down, to the streets below and the people walking there. "Yeah." His mouth was dry. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Steve could feel the movements of Bucky spreading his wings through his back. Bucky started to lean forward ever so slightly, about to drop off the edge, but suddenly stopped.

"Steve, look." Bucky said, pointing out across from them.

Across the street was a much fancier apartment building, and some of the units had much bigger windows - arching portals that reached up to ten feet tall and six feet wide. In the bright sun of the day, the windows cast a perfect reflection. A reflection so clear that Steve, even with his less-than-perfect-eyesight, could clearly see himself standing there, two great brown and white wings extended on either side of him. Steve's breath hitched, and his racing heart stopped. If he didn't know any better, it looked as if those wings belonged to him.

Then they were falling from the fifteenth-story rooftop, the wind rushing past Steve's face as their velocity increased. He opened his mouth, but whatever was going to come out was pushed back down his throat. Then he felt a lift, and instead of falling, Steve's body began to become more horizontal. Now, instead of things rushing at him, things were rushing past him. Steve couldn't help but give an astonished laugh as they soared over the streets, people looking up to watch. Bucky flapped his wings a couple times, twisting his body to turn down a street.

The sensation of moving through the buildings without touching the ground was enchanting for Steve. He felt detached from his body, as if caught in a dream. The wind rushing past him filled his ears, only catching the occasional car horn and the beats of Bucky's wings. Bucky took a route that lead to downtown Brooklyn, where the skyscrapers were, where the park was, where there was much more space. Families were out and about, celebrating the Fourth of July. Little children playing on the streets would look up and point, their eyes widening with wonder. Some people would smile and wave, the spirit of the holiday making all strangers friendly. Steve smiled widely and waved back.

Then Bucky angled his wings back, and they began to rise in altitude. They spiraled around one of the skyscrapers, and Steve turned his head to catch their reflection on those windows as well. When they finally rose past the skyscraper, Bucky leveled out and settled into a thermal of warm air, staying aloft without having to beat his wings at all. All of Brooklyn was splayed out before Steve, a sight he thought he would never see. He saw all the houses and buildings as tiny, almost toy-like. When he looked straight down, it seemed as if the land was flat beneath them - his depth perception had gone out the window at this height. Despite the heat of the summer sun, Steve felt goosebumps rising on his skin. But he was numb to everything, even his heart was still. His eyes teared up, but he couldn't tell if it was from the wind or joy. A smile had settled permanently onto his face.

"Steve."

Steve jumped slightly, having forgotten that Bucky was the reason he was up there. He turned his head slightly, so Bucky knew he was listening.

"I want to try something." Bucky explained. "But it might be dangerous. What do you think?"

Steve didn't even have to think, and nodded his head vigorously. He felt Bucky laughing against his back. "Okay, just let me know if it gets to be too much."

They climbed higher, and Steve wondered if Bucky was going to fly them into the sun. The clouds got closer and closer, making Steve wonder if they really were that high up or if the clouds were just lower than he thought. Next thing he knew, they were flying through the clouds, and his face became wet with beads of water. His ears started to pop. He couldn't see anything, everything around him was just white. The temperature continued to drop, and the air became thinner. Steve's breathing became labored, and he began to panic. Steve was about to reach behind him and tap Bucky, when they burst out of the clouds. Suddenly, Steve didn't need to breathe anymore.

A bright new world overtook every sense that Steve had, overwhelming him in the best way possible. The structures of the clouds were so intricate and majestic, that Steve believed for a second that he and Bucky had entered heaven. The earth peeked in between the clouds, but now that the city wasn't directly below them, Steve felt like he had truly left the ground behind. Steve felt released, he felt weightless, he felt…_free_. For a long while, they flew with the clouds, between their towering monoliths. Bucky even did a barrel roll over one cloud formation, so Steve was upside down for an instant, his throat and chest exposed to the sun. He laughed as they leveled out again.

It was only when Steve started seeing a black ring on the outside of his vision did he finally pat one of Bucky's hands, and they began to descend. He wished his lungs could stand high altitudes like Bucky's, but he had enough of a hard time breathing normal on the ground. Steve cleared his ears by plugging his nose whenever the pressure became too much. The buildings reappeared, and Steve realized that they were heading back the way they came. Back to Steve's building. The smile fell from Steve's face as he realized his gift was about to end. They had been flying for a long time, about several hours since now the sun was about to set. But it felt like minutes. They flew back over the park, through the buildings and streets. When Steve's apartment building came into view, Bucky slowed and began to angle them so their bodies were more vertical. Bucky gave one powerful stroke of his wings to counter their momentum, and dropped the last foot to the roof. Bucky undid the ropes, freeing himself from Steve. Steve took one step forward and fell to his knees.

He was shaking. Tears formed in his eyes as he grabbed handfuls of gravel. Back on solid ground, back to reality. Back to being limited.

"You okay, Steve?" Bucky said behind him. "I hope I didn't scare you. I do just fine above the clouds, but even I can only stand it for so long."

Steve gave a choked laugh, rubbing his eyes with his arm. He was so sad that it was over, but so happy to have had the experience. His fear from earlier seemed ridiculous now. Steve slowly rose to his feet, turning to face Bucky.

"Bucky…" Steve's voice was almost a whisper. "Please tell me that one day, we'll do this again."

Bucky laughed. "Of course, Steve. Many, many more times."

Steve hugged Bucky tightly, so tightly that Bucky groaned a little. "Need to breathe, Steve." Steve let go with a laugh, whipping another tear from his eye. Bucky smiled at him, rubbing his head playfully.

"Happy Birthday, Stevie."

"Thanks, Bucky." Steve couldn't stop smiling. "I have the best friend in the world, you know that?"

"You know," Bucky said as he wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulder and began walking back to the fire escape. "I was just about to say the same thing."

That night Bucky, Steve, and Mrs. Rogers invited the Barnes' over, and they all went back up to the roof to watch the fireworks. They had told Steve's mom what they had done, as well. She wasn't too happy, but her disapproval came more from her sons deception than Bucky's gift. To her credit, she knew that it was only a matter of time before they both took to the sky, and although it made her nervous, she knew Bucky would never let anything happen to her son. "Next time, James," She said with a pointed finger, "Please ask for my permission." Bucky never broke that rule. As they sat under the light of the fireworks, Steve's mind was far away, up in the clouds and the stars. Steve leaned over to Bucky.

"You ever tried flying through fireworks?" Steve was joking of course.

"I would, but I really like not being on fire, you know?" Bucky said.

That night, Steve stayed up late into the night, drawing clouds and wings all over his sketchbook.

* * *

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Hopefully it's fun to read! This might be the last of the childhood chapters, meaning it's also the last of the happy chapters. I'm debating whether or not to write a chapter about Bucky learning how to fly. But would be before he met Steve and I would have to write it from his point of view. Not sure if I'm ready for that.

To all my high school/college readers, I wish you good luck on your finals, even if you've already had them. Wish me luck on mine!

Please read, review, and enjoy!


	6. Resin

May, 1942

* * *

The year the war started was the year that Steve entered art school. He never missed a news segment, read every article about it, and would talk about it with Bucky every chance he got. Bucky, however, was not as captivated by the battle across the sea. He was horrified and angered by footage of the Nazi invasion - but unlike Steve, he didn't feel a sense of duty to do something about it. He felt concerned, afraid of what would happen if the war were to spread. He had seen firsthand what war could do to people. His father had served in the last war, and it had left a very dark mark on his psyche. Where Steve saw the war as opportunity, Bucky saw death and damage. It sparked a lot of heated arguments between the two.

"I agree the Nazi's should be stopped, I just don't see why we need to get involved."

"How can you say that? You know what it's like to be hated for something you didn't choose."

"And it sucks! It's a big problem! Nobody in their right mind would think that what the Nazi's are doing is the right thing. But it's not like we're supporting the Nazi's by staying out of it."

"That's exactly what we're doing! We should be fighting with the Allies, not just sitting idly by and hoping they come out on top in the end."

"I just don't think America needs to get involved in every war that goes on in Europe."

"It's not just Europe, Bucky. Have you seen what's been going on in China and Korea with Japan? It's just as bad, if not worse."

"And they need to be stopped, too! But why does it have to be us?"

"Why _not _us?"

"Because war is a bad thing, Steve. Lots of innocent people die in war."

"That's why we need to step up and defend those people, so the war can end!"

"But what if it doesn't end? What if it just gets worse?"

"Then we keep fighting!"

"So we just keep fighting until everyone's dead?"

"You know Bucky, America is surrounded by this war. Sooner or later we _are _going to be pulled in, whether we want to or not. You need to figure out what side you're on."

"And you need to figure out what you're really going to fight for – peace, or yourself."

Two years after the war started, Steve's prediction came true. But there was an unexpected consequence that Steve had not foretold. Deciding to follow the lead of their allies, the US opened military enlistments to anyone who would volunteer, and conscription notices were sent out to all men that were eligible to fill ranks. Steve knew this was coming, because the draft had been set up an entire year earlier. What he had not expected was the mandate that all eligible winged-folk - _men and women -_ were required to enlist, as their unique contributions to the war effort made them invaluable as soldiers and field aids. Only by special circumstance would one be exempt from the mandate.

By the time Steve had raced to Bucky's apartment, his feathered friend was already gone. A large brown envelope sat on Bucky's kitchen table, the letter inside requesting James Barnes to report immediately to the nearest SAA office, no questions.

A week later, Steve got his first letter from Bucky at basic training. It was only a few sentences long.

_Steve,_

_Don't know if you heard, but I'm in the army now. Never seen so many winged-folk in one place. The training is going well. Should be back home in six months or so. You were right._

_-Bucky_

Steve didn't know what he was right about, but he found himself wishing that he wasn't. He tried writing letters back, but he didn't really know what to say. That he was sorry? That he wished he could be there with him? That he wished he could trade places with him? None of it would make up for Bucky being forced to fight in a war.

When Steve realized that his own conscription letter wasn't coming, he started going to the enlistment stations. That first time being denied enlistment due to poor health was like a punch in the face for Steve. It had never occurred to him before that moment that when the advertisements said they wanted everybody to serve, it came with terms and conditions. It made Steve so frustrated that he had to be dragged from the office after getting in an argument about his abilities with the doctor that had stamped a 4F on his form. They threw him out on the sidewalk, brushing their hands off as they closed the door behind him. When he stood up to brush himself off, he once again saw the enlistment advertisement, causing him to scowl. Underneath the ad was a smaller printed sign that said 'IT IS ILLEGAL TO FALSIFY YOUR ENLISTMENT FORM'. And that gave Steve an idea.

Bucky had been gone for a month and a half, now. Steve walked soppily down the sidewalk, sneering at the form in his hand. The ink in the 4F stamp was still drying. He had tried his best to hide his asthma, his fatigue, and his colorblindness. But the doctors were good at what they did, and he couldn't explain his parent's deaths in such a plausible way that would back up his noticeable conditions and not get him arrested. But it wasn't any good. It was never any good. Steve sighed, telling himself to try something different next time.

Steve tossed the form away, mumbling to himself as he finally reached his destination. The apartment building was grand compared to his own, meant for people who had managed to keep some semblance of their fortunes during the depression. Steve entered through the big glass doors and walked straight to the front desk. The clerk behind the desk gave him a disapproving look the second he stepped inside.

"I think you're in the wrong building, young man." The clerk sniffed as he gave Steve's ragged jacket a once over. Steve quirked an eyebrow at the man.

"That's some quality customer service, right there." Steve rolled his eyes, very much not in the mood to deal with unpleasantness. He pulled a sealed envelope out of his jacket. "I'm here to see Bri Turner."

The clerk flipped through his registry. "And what is the nature of your visit?"

"Just a friendly visit. She's expecting me."

"We shall see." The clerk picked up the phone. He shot Steve a couple more glances as he waited for an answer. "Miss Turner, I have a young man down here who says you are expecting him… yes, he is… are you sure...? Yes... yes, ma'am. Thank you."

The clerk hung up the phone, the scowl on his face not very well concealed as he wrote something down in the registry. "You may go." He dismissed Steve with a wave of his hand. Steve turned away without a word, entering the elevator and requesting the top floor from the operator. Unlike the clerk, the elevator operator was a nice young girl who smiled at Steve as they rode in silence up to the top floor. Steve handed the lift girl a dollar as he stepped off and made his way down the hall to the very last room. He could hear opera music muffled by the door, a man's deep vibrato gracing Steve's ears.

The door was cracked. Even so, Steve still rapped his knuckles against it a couple of times before he pushed his way inside. "I think your door man might want to go see a doctor about that stick up his ass." He shouted into the home, but he doubted Ms. Turner could hear him over the music.

The complex was simple, hardly any special decors or unnecessary furniture. There was very little electrical lighting, as the ceiling was dotted with small skylights that let in plenty of sun. However, the walls were accented with custom, detailed paintings. Steve always loved Ms. Turner's paintings, often wondering how she could manipulate the colors to do such incredible things. Her watercolors of pond lilies and distant mountains made Steve feel like he was in one of the big galleries downtown. He slowly made his way through the apartment, taking in each painting with admiration. There was one of the skyline of Brooklyn at sunset, a man sitting on a bench under a tree and… a winged boy, facing away from the painter, the sun glistening off of his brown and white feathers.

A sudden loud crash sounded from deeper in the apartment, startling Steve out of himself. He hurried into the home, slipping the envelope back in his jacket while turning a corner into the kitchen. Steve was prepared for an emergency, but instead what he saw was Ms. Turner waving her hands in front of her face as tendrils of smoke snaked out of her oven. Her silver hair was tied back behind her and her dark skin had a thin sheen of sweat. Her graying wings waved as well, helping to disperse the smoke after knocking over another bowl on the kitchen countertop. Steve covered his nose with his shirt and coughed.

It was then that Ms. Turner noticed him. She turned to Steve, her dark eyes widening with happiness.

"Steve, you're here!" She abandoned her smoking oven as she embraced Steve's shoulders and pecked him once on each cheek. Steve's mood lightened considerably at the affection, making him laugh. "It has been far too long, kid."

"It certainly has, Bri. I was glad to get your call." Ms. Turner was the only woman that Steve had ever felt comfortable talking to, besides his own mother. "It seems I might be interrupting something."

"This darn thing…" Ms. Turner mumbled off as she slipped on an oven mitt and reached into the oven, pulling out a tray of black lumps of… something. "I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've almost burnt my feathers off with this newfangled electric oven. Oh, there go the cookies I made for you..."

Steve grinned at the old woman. She set the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. Unlike other women, Brielle Turner did not have an appeal for dresses or skirts. Instead, she chose to wear slacks and trousers with a blouse tucked in. She had explained once that flying with a dress was very impractical. If you want an easy way for people to see your undergarments, she had explained once, wear a dress while coming in for a landing. Ms. Turner believed that most dresses were in fact rejected parachutes. Steve and Ms. Turner set about opening the windows so the smoke could escape.

"I guess we'll just have to make another batch." Steve smirked.

"You can do that your own self, honey." Ms. Turner chuckled, but it was an exhausted expression as she struggled to fly up to the skylight to undo the latch. When she dropped back down, it wasn't as graceful as Steve had remembered her being, proven more by her clutching one of her wing joints. "Baking really takes it out of me nowadays."

Steve got the chance to really look at Ms. Turner as she turned away from him to clean up the mess of burnt cookies. When he had first met the woman who had taught Bucky everything about what it meant to be a winged-folk, she had been in her late forties, but she was still strong and resilient from her days as an Air Ranger. Her style of flying made Bucky look like a butterfly. Her wings were large, almost as large as Bucky's, but the feathers were shaped differently. Where Bucky's were long and narrow, Ms. Turner's were shorter and wider. They had been jet black, except for a small patch of feathers near her wing-elbows that were bright red. But now that she was in her sixties, that red patch had faded to a creamy orange, and the black was a darker gray.

When all the windows were open, Ms. Turner walked over to her record player, lifting the needle and cutting off the opera music. She once again turned to Steve, and they hugged again, properly this time. Underneath the smell of smoke, she still smelled like brown sugar and cocoa. Steve closed his eyes and allowed a brief instant of feeling like he was ten years old again. Before the war, before Bucky left, before things had gotten so damn complicated.

"Now Steve." She said, leading Steve to her living room. "Please, tell me everything."

Steve took a seat in a wide chair, not really sure where to begin.

"I guess the first thing you should know is that my mother passed away a couple years ago."

Ms. Turner closed her eyes and nodded. "Bucky told me. I have missed Sarah dearly. I would have come to the ceremony, Steve. Unfortunately I was away in Paris. Did you get my flowers?"

Steve nodded. It was a large bouquet, and they had rested on top of Mrs. Rogers' grave until the winter came.

"When I had heard, I made a toast to her memory with the finest Irish whiskey I could get. Then I drank myself to sleep." Ms. Turner huffed a single, tired laugh. "It was pneumonia, right?"

"No, tuberculosis. But it was… a lot of other things, too." Steve said, feeling a weight in his chest. "Being sick, looking after me, trying to make ends meet, dad's death… In the end, it was all just too much, I think."

"Your mother was a strong woman, Steve. I don't believe for a second that she once thought is was too much." Ms. Turner's eyes were far away. She chuckled before continuing. "I mean, it only took one of the deadliest diseases known to man to bring her down."

Steve smiled at that, but it didn't stop the twinge of sorrow in his chest. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"When was the last time you talked to Bucky?"

"About a year and a half ago."

"So you don't know about the conscription requirement?"

"Of course I know, they did the same thing for the Great War." Ms. Turner took a seat on her sofa, across from Steve. "How do you think I got involved with the SAA?"

Steve turned his head to look at some of the photographs on her side table. Bri had been a real looker when she was younger. Especially in her aviator suit. Her fierce eyes shined confidently back at Steve from the photo of her in her glory days. To this day, Bri Turner was regarded as the first black winged-woman to serve her country and be awarded a silver star for her actions. She was revered and respected by all. Her medals and stars still hung in a case right next to her SAA Ambassador certificate, the job she had accepted after the war. She had lived quite the life.

"But this war," Ms. Turner continued, her voice low. "It's so much bigger than anything I've ever seen before. It feels like the whole world's gone mad."

"Yeah… and Bucky's being forced into it." Steve switched his gaze to the floor, his mind swirling. "I should be with him."

"Steve."

"He didn't even want to fight, Bri." Steve scowled. "I thought… I thought he was a coward for not wanting to, but then I heard the mandate and suddenly I realized that… that I could lose him."

"Steve, would you like me to tell you what the winged-folk do in the armed forces?" Ms. Turner was calm, her voice controlled. Steve nodded, wondering when these tears had gotten in his eyes. "They do reconnaissance. They scout out for enemy camp sights, mapping the terrain for foot soldiers to traverse unknown territory easier. During battle, they attend the wounded, carrying them out with teams, and lay down fire from a safe distance in the air. Unless they engage with enemies in the sky, winged-soldiers almost never touch the ground in an enemy zone. At most, they deliver payloads and do long range eliminations."

"But what if things have changed? What if they do more than that now?"

"They don't, honey. I was part of the committee that decided to reenact the winged-soldier mandate." Steve started at this, until Ms. Tuner quickly followed with. "I had the final word on the protocol, because I am a veteran and I am the only one alive that remembers what it was like to fly over a war. I would never agree to such a mandate that would endanger my kind. We're an endangered species, you know."

Steve sighed through his nose. "Still, I should be fighting with him. Side by side, brothers in arms and all that, like we always said we would."

"Each person has their own purpose in these trying times." Ms. Turner's piercing gaze rooted Steve to the moment. "For some, it just takes them a little while to figure out what that purpose is. Take heart, Steve. I have a feeling you will get your chance."

Steve had to stop himself from snorting at that, deciding it would not be a good idea to tell her about his 'illegal' failed recruitment attempts.

"Do you know what camp he's at?"

Steve had almost forgotten about the letter in his jacket. He took it out and handed it to her. She opened it and read it quietly to herself.

"Camp Madison?" She mumbled. "Never heard of it."

"Neither had he."

"Steve… why is Bucky wondering if you're getting his letters?" Ms. Turner frowned at the young man, setting the letter in her lap. "How many letters have you gotten from him?"

Steve chewed his lip. "This is the third one since he left."

"Don't you write him back?"

Steve looked away from her. "We kind of had a fight a couple days before he was called away."

He heard Ms. Turner sigh and the slight ruffle of wings.

"Steve, if he keeps writing to you, it means he misses you. It's not fair that you would stay mad at him for this long."

"No, I'm not mad at him." Steve said quickly. "It's just… well, I guess I kind of feel this is my fault."

"You know that's not true."

"Yeah, I know… still sucks, though."

Ms. Turner chuckled at that. "Can't fix that, kid."

Ms. Turner stood, walking into a different room and coming back with a small wooden box. She handed it to Steve with a smile.

"I made these years ago, I was going to give them to you and Bucky as graduation presents, but since he dropped out of school and you took two years longer, I wasn't sure when would be a good time."

Steve quirked an eyebrow, then opened the box. Inside were two leather string necklaces, each with a black feather looped through a hole in the quill along with a smaller red feather. The feathers had been preserved in resin. Steve was speechless. Feathers from the winged-folk were extremely precious, no one was allowed to touch one without the express permission of the bearer, whether or not it was even still on their body. Ms. Turner giving her feathers in such a way was her way of giving the most important thing she owned. Steve carefully lifted one of the necklaces out of the box, treating it delicately even though the feathers had been hardened with the plastic.

"Oh my god…" Steve looked up at Ms. Turner, who was watching him with a wide smile. She nodded her head. Steve slipped the necklace over his head, feeling the feathers thump softly against his chest. "I can't… thank you!"

"You're very welcome, Steve." Ms. Turner winked. "The other one is for Bucky. Just a little piece of me to be remembered when I'm gone."

Steve looked down at the feathers. It was more than that. If Steve were so inclined, each of those feathers was worth a small fortune. Preserved like they were clearly meant that Ms. Turner had intended for each boy to inherit a significant amount if they ever wanted it. The only next best thing that she could have given them was the wings off her back.

"I'll give you the info for how I got this done." Ms. Turner pointed at the feathers. "Who knows, maybe one day Bucky will give you one of his own to add to your collection."

"I doubt that, Bucky's pretty protective." Steve looked up at the woman. "Thank you, Brielle."

"Bah, it's nothing I wouldn't do for my own children. If I had any." She hardened her face then. "But you have to write him back, Steve Rogers. Today."

"I'm sure he's too busy to care about little ol' me." Steve joked, but still kind of meant it.

"I promise you, it's driving him insane."

Steve smiled at her. She always knew what to say.

"There's another reason I came to visit you, Bri."

Ms. Turner perked up at this. "Oh?"

"After graduating, I was accepted to art school." Steve closed the box and slipped it into his jacket. "And I discovered that while I can draw like there's no tomorrow, I can't paint worth a damn."

Ms. Turner laughed for about two minutes at that.

That night, when Steve returned to his own apartment, he sat at his desk and twirled the black feather in front of his face, deep in thought. Finally reaching a decision, he moved his sketches aside and took out a fresh piece of paper.

_Bucky,_

_Hey pal. I just got your letters. Postal system is getting busy, I guess. Things haven't been the same without you around. It's almost too quiet. I went and visited Ms. Turner today. She sends her love, as well as the gift that is with this letter. How great is she? She's giving me painting lessons. So you know I've been staying out of trouble. Mostly. I'll tell you when you get back. I really hope you come back soon. I miss you._

_You were right, too._

_-Steve_

* * *

A/N: Hey guys! You finally get to meet the legendary Ms. Turner! The first mention of her is in chapter one, when they talk about her cookies. Although for some reason she's 'Mrs.', not 'Ms.'. I'll need to fix that. We're pretty close to entering the movie events. Hope ya'll are liking the story so far.

Another thing, I was trying to present both sides of how American's viewed the war with Bucky and Steve in the beginning. Many American's wanted to stay out of WW2, but there were lots of people like Steve who thought it was ridiculous to sit by. What isn't mentioned is that there actually were some American's who sympathized with the Nazi's... but we don't talk about that.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	7. Red and White

November, 1942 - June, 1943

* * *

Bucky returned from basic training with more muscle than he knew what to do with and a new set of skills that made Steve both jealous and cautious. He told Steve about how he had quickly excelled through the ranks, that he was already a Sergeant and would be assigned his own squad of winged-soldiers when they finally shipped him out in about half a year. But that wasn't what Bucky was excited about. Bucky dragged Steve to a small shooting range in downtown Brooklyn where he showed just how deadly precise he could be with a gun. Of course, Bucky's raptor vision probably made it ten times easier for him. He tried to give Steve a quick tutorial and allowed him a test shot, but Steve could barely hold the gun up and his eye sight was nowhere near good enough to see the target clearly. When he fired, the kickback from the gun almost knocked him off his feet and he missed the target completely. Bucky laughed it off, but Steve scowled at the target. If he was going to get into the army someday, he would have to do better than that.

Similarly, Steve showed Bucky his new art projects. To keep his creative juices flowing, Steve had taken up a part-time gig as a cartoonist for a lesser known newspaper. It paid sufficiently. But in his free time, Steve had advanced from small sketches in his book to large canvases of paint. Steve had decided that water color wasn't for him, and stuck with the traditional acrylic style. He had amassed several different marvelous paintings of the city, the park, and the people that were there. Some of them had even gotten a place in galleries, which Steve was very proud of. Although, none of them got sold. The one that caught Bucky's attention was a large rectangular canvas that had been based with dark blue, almost black paint. A dark stripe at the bottom dotted with yellow was the skyline of Brooklyn, and above it was a spattering of stars and comets, subtle swirls of green and purple galaxy dust, and a great white moon. Bucky had stared at it for a good minute, taking in all the detail, before he finally spoke up.

"How much?"

"Excuse me?" Steve choked.

"I want it, Steve." Bucky grinned. "How much?"

"I don't know Bucky." Steve stuck his hands in his pockets as he regarded the painting. "It's pretty sloppy. I could barely see what I was doing when I went out the night I painted this."

"As someone who has seen the stars up close," Bucky stated. "You got it just right."

Steve painted his signature at the bottom and gave it to Bucky without charge. Bucky hung that painting in his small living room, where any guest he had would see it.

Over the next several months, Steve and Bucky spent almost every day together as Bucky waited for his orders to come. They kept themselves occupied with menial activities. Steve dragged Bucky to some of his art classes. For some reason, the other students in his sculpting class were adamant about using Bucky as a model for their projects. Bucky, of course, was happy to oblige. Steve also joined Bucky for his nightly escapades to dance halls, doing his best to not let being rejected multiple times get him down. Bucky would then drag him to the dance floor and dance with him, which made Steve red in the face. They would take easy nights and just go out to eat or to the bars where they would talk for hours about ideas and things that interested them, like they did when they were kids. When Steve told Bucky about his many enlistment attempts, Bucky was, of course, furious. But he would never turn his friend in and he was busy getting his affairs in order. So essentially, there was nothing he could do. The famous Stark Expo arrived in Brooklyn, and the city became even more alive as the possibilities of the future were brought to light.

But none of it did anything to dissuade the little voice in the back of Steve's head that told him that any day now, Bucky would leave and possibly not come back. And Steve would be stuck at home, waiting for the letter to come.

Bucky took Steve flying one night, and Steve realized just exactly why Bucky had liked his painting so much. The chilly night air was enough to upset Steve's lungs though, so they didn't stay up for long. They took a short rest on the roof of one of the skyscrapers on the way back home. Steve rubbed his arms through his heavy jacket, trying to warm himself up as he coughed. Bucky stepped up next to him and wrapped a wing around him. It was warm from exercise, and it shielded him from the wind.

Steve and Bucky looked out over the Brooklyn nightscape, taking in the cars and streetlights that stretched in a checkered pattern across the dark land. For a long while, they didn't say anything. When Bucky moved to take up the harness again, Steve stepped away.

"Wait, Bucky. Before we go, there's something I've got to say." Steve wrung his hands together. Now was as good a time as any. "You just need to know, that my life would have never been the same without you."

"What is this, Steve?" Bucky chuckled. "I'm not dead yet."

"No, I know, Buck." Steve remained serious. "But I want to do this before you are."

Bucky froze at that. It had never been said out loud, but Bucky was scared. Steve could tell by the way he looked over his shoulder when they walked through the street, or how he always seemed tired like he hadn't slept so well. He was terrified of going off to fight in the war, terrified of dying. But the fact that he had stuck with his missions and orders so far was the bravest thing he had ever done, in Steve's opinion.

"You know, it's been almost twenty years since I rescued that scrawny little kid in the sandbox." Bucky put his hands on his hips and looked back out over the city. "Twenty years, and all this time that kid never knew."

"Never knew what?"

Bucky side-eyed Steve, his usual charismatic grin returning to his lips.

"That he was the one who rescued me."

Steve smiled softly, remembering the day. That had both grown up so much since then, had been through so much. It was amazing really, after all this time they were both still standing there on that rooftop. Together.

"There will be time for this later, Steve." Bucky said as he walked behind Steve to grab the harness. "Besides, it's probably a bunch of crap I already know, right? Now come on, it's freezing balls up here."

That night was the last night Steve and Bucky flew together. That June, James Barnes received his orders. The same day, Steve tried to get enlisted in a desperate attempt to not be left behind. The same night, he met a quirky German scientists who offered him the chance of a lifetime.

After that night, neither of them were ever the same again.

* * *

August, 1943

* * *

Steve followed Agent Carter through the many heavy steel doors, deeper and deeper into the secret SSR lab with sentries posted at each door that would look at Steve with confused expressions. Agent Carter looked back at him, the worry in her eyes was barely concealed. Steve had to admit that he was also brimming with anxiety. The specific details of the procedure had been kept from Steve, a precaution in case he actually was a spy. The only thing Steve new was that there was a formula involved, and that the procedure was probably going to hurt. A lot. If it worked.

They finally reached a single metal door. Agent Carter swung it open, allowing Steve to step through in front of her. He stepped out onto a small metal staircase lined against the wall, overlooking a pitted room with a circle of whirring and blinking machines the likes of which Steve had never seen before. In the center, on a lifted platform, was a narrow pod with braces and straps. Scientists and nurses in white apparel scrambled around, connecting wires and running tests. To his left was a glass viewing stage, where men in gray and brown suits chatted. Steve spotted Colonel Phillips among them, his bloodhound-like face peering back at Steve as he spoke to a man in a dark gray suite with glasses and a blue and white pin on his black tie.

As soon as the metal door clanged shut behind him, all motion stopped as everybody turned to stare at Steve. They looked at him expectantly, and also with concern. Steve tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, turning his head to see that Agent Carter was also gazing at him with her deep brown eyes, thoughts swirling in their depths.

Steve numbly walked down the staircase, approaching the platform where he saw Dr. Erskine standing patiently. The old man greeted him, his face tired. There was a bright flash as a camera man shot a picture, making Steve jump. His mind was buzzing, barely able to process all that was happening. His eyes were locked on the metal capsule, taking in all the gadgets and tools that were attached to it via wires and hoses.

"Are you ready?" Erksine asked. Steve couldn't even speak, just nod dumbly. "Good. Take off your shirt, your tie and your hat."

He mindlessly removed his clothes and handed them to Agent Carter, moving towards the pod. The pod was lifted well off the ground, so high that Steve had to take a step ladder up to it. It was well padded, but it seemed far too big even by normal human standards. Did Erskine really believe his formula would change him that much?

He licked his suddenly dry lips as he laid down in the capsule, a nurse coming over to tend to him. Dr. Erskine walked over to him, his eyes were tired but excited.

"Comfortable?" He asked with a kind smile.

"It's a little big."

Erskine chuckled.

"You save me any of that Schnapps?" Dr. Erskine made a face.

"Not as much as I should have." He adjusted his glasses. "Sorry. Next time. Mr. Stark?"

Steve started at the name. The flashy billionaire from the expo was here? Why?

"How are your levels?"

Howard Stark appeared in Steve's line of sight. A young man with impeccable looks and an intelligent flame in his eyes, Steve had to admit.

"Levels at one hundred percent." He said, staring down at Steve. "We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are ready." He took in Steve's bony body. "As we'll ever be."

Steve returned his gaze back to the ceiling as Stark moved elsewhere, not knowing whether he should be scared or offended by what he had said.

Dr. Erskine was talking over a microphone to the men in the viewing room, but Steve couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Other doctors and nurses started to strap him into the machine. That was when the first doubts started to enter his mind. What on earth made him think that he could pull this off? He was nobody, a kid from Brooklyn who couldn't even walk down the street without getting sweaty and tired. And he wanted to join the army? _What?_

The words from Erskine's visit last night came back to him. Although at the time they had been reassuring, and Steve was positive that he trusted this doctor with his life, he couldn't help but feel now that the man had just told him what he wanted to hear. Steve shook himself. No, the doctor was a professional. They had an entire slew of candidates to observe over two months, and had picked him. That wasn't luck. And if it wasn't going to be him, then who? Who else would Steve rather see in this pod other than himself? Steve took a couple deep breaths. This was his only chance. There was no going back. Besides, if Erskine had been successful with the serum before, he could do it again.

Hydra. How had Steve never heard of them? They had never been included in any news articles or document segments about the war and the Nazi's. If they were as formidable as their more famous counterpart, then Steve's whole outlook on the war had changed. It wasn't just a war of man power and politics. There were secret wars being fought off the battlefield, wars of science and madness that were much more deadly and destructive. And Steve had just signed up to join the frontlines.

A nurse with a needle came at Steve. He stiffened. If there was anything that he hated, it was needles. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not moving as she injected him, taking deep breaths. When she was done, he looked up at Dr. Erskine.

"That wasn't so bad."

Erskine gave him a look of empathy. "That was penicillin."

Steve gawked at the doctor. He just frowned apologetically and turned to the groups of engineers, speaking loudly.

"Serum infusion in 5…4…3…"

Six different pads along the sides of the pod descended down on Steve's body; two on his arms, two near his stomach, and two on his thighs. They pressed hard, and Steve felt the tiny pricks of many, much smaller needles pierce his skin. His breathing quickened, but he tried to maintain a brave face. Dr. Erskine put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"2…1."

Steve's body stiffened at the sudden pressure under his skin. His face involuntarily twisted into a grimace, squeezing his eyes shut. A groan slipped between his lips. A hard shock ripped through his body, and Steve snapped his eyes open. He could already feel the serum changing him, converting him as it swam through his blood and up into his brain. His body felt electrified.

"Now, Mr. Stark."

The whir of machines filled Steve's ears as the pod shifted into an upright position, the top of the pod closing in on him, eliminating all light except for the faint glow of the electric bulbs that lined the interior of the pod and reminded Steve of Christmas ornaments. When the portal locked shut, Steve heard a faint _hiss_ and _click_, then silence. His breathing echoed around him in the chamber, seeming way louder than it should have been. His body was starting to ache, especially his back and shoulders. There was a knocking on the outside of the pod.

"Steven?" Dr. Erskine's voice came through the metal. "Can you hear me?"

Steve could have said anything. Yeah, he was fine. Or he was great. Or he really hoped this worked. Anything.

"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"

Steve winced at the question, repeating it to himself under his breath with disbelief. But he didn't have time to chastise himself for long, as several seconds later a pulse ran through him, vibrating his organs like a sound wave. But the sensation didn't completely go away. It settled deep into his bones, down into his core like a coil ready to spring. The air suddenly tasted metallic, but not like blood. Black and white dots swam before his vision. Light was building up in the pod as the bulbs came to life, shining brighter and brighter with each second. For several seconds nothing happened.

Then all of his muscles tightened at once. Steve gasped. It didn't hurt, but he hadn't been expecting it. However, the unpleasantness grew as his muscles bunched and constrained more and more, evolving into a mild pain very quickly. For a second, Steve was afraid his bones would split in half, until he realized that his bones were also contributing to the aching as they pulled at his ligaments. Steve's back was beginning to hurt real bad, his spine and shoulder blades felt like they were on fire. Steve tried to keep his breathing under control, but he found he could hardly breathe at all. His lungs – and the rest of his insides – were churning uncomfortably in his torso, and each shallow breath he took was another shock of pain to his system. Steve tried really hard to not throw up in the pod, even though his stomach was empty.

Steve shut his eyes tight, trying to get through the procedure, telling himself it would all be over soon. But it didn't end, and the pressure and burning just kept on getting worse. Was this normal? Was this what it was supposed to feel like? Erskine had said that the serum had had unusual side effects on Schmidt… was that what this was? Steve began to panic. What if he was rejecting the serum? What if he wasn't strong enough? Was he going to die?

Steve finally let loose a strained howl out of pain and fear. When the first one was done, another one was already waiting in his throat. And another one, out of his control.

Someone was pounding on the pod, but Steve barely registered it. He heard Erskine's voice, but couldn't make out what he was saying over the rumbling of the machine and the blood rushing through his ears. Steve reigned in his voice, trying to listen. The only thing he could catch outside the capsule made Steve's already racing heart lurch.

"Turn it off! Kill the Reaction!"

In that moment, every memory Steve had of his life's inhibitions came to the front of his mind. Other kids in grade school saying he couldn't play with them. Coach Simons telling him he hadn't made the cut for little league baseball that year and every year after until age out. His mother telling him he couldn't hope to win every fight that he picked, or that he shouldn't be picking fights at all even if it was to stick up for someone or something. Those examiners at the enlistment stations. All his life, people had been telling him what he couldn't do. Everyone, except Bucky. He had always believed in him, although he showed it in a very roundabout way. And Bucky was fighting for his life right now. A tear fell down Steve's face, as he remembered how desperately he wanted to be there fighting with him. That need to be by Bucky's side was what had landed Steve in this situation. He couldn't disappoint his best friend. He decided in that moment, that he was done with not being good enough. Suddenly, Steve could take the pain.

"No! Don't!" Steve gasped out. "I can do this!"

Steve wasn't sure if they had heard him. For a second he feared that the light would go away and he would be stuck with being skinny Steve Rogers for the rest of his life. But the whirring continued on, and then continued to grow in pitch. The pain resumed its growing intensity, but Steve gritted his teeth and bared through it. It felt like his body was being stretched in all directions, his muscles felt like they were going to tear themselves apart, his organs felt like they were about to explode. The pain in his back was especially unbearable, particularly on his left side. The strap that had been buckled around his waist suddenly snapped and fell away, and the pads on his chest lifted free. Steve didn't know what that meant, but he didn't ponder it long as his skull seemed to be filled with razors.

Steve's world was completely white. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Without meaning to, the thought of dying right then and there occurred to him again. This time Steve accepted it, thinking that if he did die, then at least he had tried. At least he had committed himself to this project and its success. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. Whether it was the end of the procedure or the _end_… Steve didn't have a preference. Whichever came first.

In the blink of an eye, everything went dark and quiet. The pain ebbed away, but his muscles still felt tight, like they didn't lay over his bones very well. His brain was having a hard time re-mapping his body after the intensity, making Steve feel disoriented. The air in the pod was stuffy, but he could breathe easier. There was a _hiss_ and a _pop_ as the tri-doors of the pod parted open. Cool sweet air washed over Steve, filling his lungs in a way that felt so unbelievably good that he almost moaned with pleasure. Was this what oxygen tasted like? Was this what an actual lungful of air was like? Steve had no idea he had been missing out on something so spectacular his whole life. After the initial euphoria had passed, Steve opened his eyes.

All the doctors and nurses stood in front of the pod, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. But more than that, Steve could actually _see_ their faces, not just blurs. Even better, he could see the faces of the men and Agent Carter in the viewing room fifty feet away. He could see her individual badges on her uniform. And… was she wearing _red lipstick_? Was that what the color red looked like? Holy shit, it was beautiful – so alive and vibrant, so much _not_ like how Bucky had tried to describe it to him once. That jerk.

Erskine ran up to him, gently grabbing his arm and saying his name as he tried to coax Steve out of the pod. Steve sat up, grunting as his new muscles were put to use. But they seemed to settle better under his skin once he started moving. Howard Stark was on his left, supporting his other side. This didn't keep him from stumbling out of the capsule, however. Men were hurrying out of the viewing box and down the staircase, but the first one to reach him was Agent Carter. She looked as stone-faced and perfect as ever, although maybe a little frazzled. Had she always had that tiny little beauty mark on her cheek? She looked Steve up and down as he got his feet beneath him.

"I think we did it." Dr. Erskine said, sounding politely pleased with himself.

"You actually did it." Stark agreed.

Steve stood to his full height, looking around at the new vantage point he had. Wow, he could actually see over people's heads now.

"How do you feel?" Agent Carter asked him, a smile playing at her red, red lips.

Again, Steve could have said anything.

"Taller."

Agent Carter's eyes lowered, then skewed in confusion as she reached her hand up toward his left pectoral, grazing her fingers over a faint crease in the skin that cut horizontally straight through the middle of the hard muscle. She caught herself quickly though, removing her hand and looking around, trying to figure out how she could help. Finally she took the shirt from the nurse standing next to them and unrolled it.

"You look taller."

Doctors and nurses were congratulating Erskine and Stark, shaking hands and patting them on the back. The men in suits were chatting excitedly among each other as Colonel Phillips made his way toward Steve. Steve was about to slip that shirt Agent Carter had given him over his head. Then a nurse spoke up.

"Doctor, you should see this." She looked around Steve to the old man. The smile fell from his face, which did not boost Steve's confidence in the slightest. Erskine and Stark moved to look at what the nurse had found. Agent Carter angled her head as well.

"Oh my…" Erskine mumbled.

"What on earth…?" Stark followed.

"What? What is it?" Steve tried to turn and see their faces, but couldn't do so without moving his whole body. They motioned for him to hold still.

"Well… what should we do with it?" Stark asked Erskine.

"I suppose… we should just bandage it up for now." Dr. Erskine shrugged. "We will find out what happened later."

Dr. Erskine motioned to one of the nurses, who rushed over with a tray of medical supplies, including large rolls of gauze.

"Doctor, please tell me what's going on?" Steve said as Erskine and the nurse began wrapping a bandage around his torso. The had to pass it to each other in front of and behind him, his new physique being too large to do it single-handedly. The nurse tied off the bandage, and Steve immediately reached his hand back, his fingers feeling nothing but the bandage, skin, and… something soft. Dr. Erskine finally addressed him as he did a quick check over of Steve.

"It's nothing bad, Steven." Dr. Erskine explained. His tone matched his words. "Just an anomaly that we weren't expecting. All will be explained with a couple tests. But first we really must…"

Erskine trailed off as he turned and his gaze settled across the room. Steve followed it, spotting a dark haired man across the room that had not joined in the excitement. He had a serious look on his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. Strange, Steve thought. Smoking wasn't allowed in here. He just barely heard Erskine whisper in front of him.

"Kruger...?"

An explosion rocked Steve, making him fall to his knees as glass rained down from the viewing room. An ambush? Was it Hydra? Steve looked around to the other startled people in the room who had also taken cover. Except one. Dr. Erskine kept his eyes locked on the man in the gray suit, jumping into action as he watched him leap forward and grab the last vial of blue serum from the containment unit.

"Somebody stop that man!" Erskine shouted, charging forward to the culprit. He must not have seen the man pull a black gun out of his inner coat. "Somebody stop him!"

Three shots rang out, and Steve watched in horror as Erskine stopped moving forward and fell to his knees. Not long after, more shots rang out, but this time from Agent Carter, who was standing above the rest with her gun and eyes trained on the man in the gray suit as he ran up the stairs. She winged him once in the shoulder, but it didn't slow him down enough to stop him from getting out the door. Agent Carter gave chase, but Steve stepped around the other doctors to where Dr. Erskine had fallen. The man's face was pale, his torso bleeding. Steve desperately put a hand on one of the bullet holes, but he knew it wasn't enough. He looked up into the old man's eyes. Dr. Erskine didn't say anything, just lifted a hand and pressed his fingers into the bandage on Steve's chest. The message was clear; remember your promise. Then he was gone. The first casualty of Steve's secret war.

He was up the stairs and tearing through the metal hallway before he completely made the decision to go after the man in the gray suit - Erskine had called him Kruger, like he had known him. He entered the antique shop, grimacing at the body of the old woman who had stood guard. Through the window, he saw Agent Carter standing out in the street, her gun held up and eyes trained on something in front of her. She fired one shot, then another. Steve rushed out onto the sidewalk, where he saw a yellow taxi speeding toward her, with no indication of slowing down. By the looks on her face, Agent Carter had no intention of moving.

Without thinking, Steve side-tackled Agent Carter mere seconds before the taxi blasted past them. Steve barely caught a glimpse of Kruger behind the wheel, his shoulder bleeding and his face angry. Steve scrambled to his feet, looking after the taxi as it sped away. Agent Carter glowered up at him, obviously furious.

"I had him!"

"Sorry!" Steve would have said more, but his legs were already moving. His bare feet slapped the pavement, arms swinging powerfully by his sides. Steve glanced down, a little shocked to see just how much longer and thicker his legs were. If he were still a runt, he would have been tired by now. Steve looked ahead, pushing his legs to go faster as the yellow taxi turned a left corner ahead of him. Steve turned as well, knowing that if Kruger stuck with this street then it was going to make him turn right in a couple of blocks. Steve glanced through the buildings as he ran, the yellow taxi flashing on the next street. The bandage around his chest was getting looser from the action, but Steve hadn't noticed.

He turned right on the next street spotting the taxi just ahead of him. But his momentum carried him farther than he had expected it to. Steve lost his footing as he tried to change direction, his new center of gravity and top heaviness screwing him up, and he crashed through the window of a bridal shop. A woman screamed as he hit the floor hard on his back, something crunching painfully beneath him. Steve shot straight up again and back out through the window, apologizing profusely as he picked up speed again. He rolled his left shoulder as he ran, flexing a muscle he didn't know he had.

The taxi had gained some distance, but Steve still managed to see it turn left again. Steve cut through an alley, a chain link fence baring his way. It was too late to turn back now, Steve decided. The bandage on his chest finally unraveled, falling behind him into the rubbish. Steve leaped, and he felt the air catch behind him, lifting him up higher, more than enough to clear the fence. Steve landed without losing a beat, a nervous pang in his gut as he tried to look over his left shoulder as he ran. What was going on back there?

Steve managed to shorten the distance between himself and the taxi quickly as they entered onto a busier street. Kruger must have seen him in his mirror, because he stepped on the accelerator. Steve frowned as he pumped his arms and legs faster, determined not to let him escape. He was still surprised that he wasn't tired yet. Steve took a detour over the hood of a Buick and jumped onto the roof of the next car that was speeding along in the same direction as the taxi. Another leap and a lift, and Steve was almost there. He ran across the bed of a truck, then flung himself onto the roof of the taxi. In hindsight, that might not have been the best idea.

The taxi began to swerve wildly as they turned onto a street that ran next to the harbor. The wind was catching on his back again, allowing Steve to steer himself and balance better. Steve clung to the taxi light with all his might. Somewhere in the back of his head, he noted that his new hand strength was unbelievable. The roof of the taxi clanged as a bullet exploded from it. Steve tried to move his body out of the line of fire by rolling onto his other side. Just in time as well, as another bullet fired through the place where he had just been laying. But his legs swung off the edge of the roof, and Steve dropped down next to the doors.

Steve peered into the taxi cab, where Kruger, looking shocked and angry, pointed his gun at Steve's face. Steve ducked out of the way as the shot made his ears ring. The cab suddenly jerked and turned as it collided with another car. The taxi went into a side roll, metal twisting and breaking as the car rolled over itself. The door Steve was clinging to detached as well. Steve jumped away, feeling a drag behind him – and possibly the rustle of feathers but Steve wasn't too sure – as he hit the ground rolling and gasping. He jumped to his feet, seeing that the taxi had miraculously landed on its wheels and Kruger left relatively unharmed. He exited the taxi, snapping his head toward the small group of people that had stopped to watch the spectacle. He turned back to Steve as he moved towards them, firing his gun to keep Steve away. Steve saw the wayward door lying on the street. Thinking fast, he grabbed the door by the inner handle and window crank, hoisting it in front of his bare torso. Two bullets clanged against the metal, but the makeshift shield had done its job. Steve felt proud of himself for a second, till he heard the sounds of a woman and small child screaming.

"Mommy!" The little boy reached for a woman as another man dragged him back, away from the man with a gun. "No!"

Steve dropped the door as Kruger yanked the woman out of her son's grasp, dragging her in front of him as he kept his gun pointed at Steve with one hand. Kruger's face was beyond angry, and he and the woman disappeared into an unloading wharf. Steve pursued them, more bullets scattering dust and rubble. He should have been out by now, right? Steve peered into the wharf, where Kruger had the woman gripped tightly by the neck, his gun pointed at her head. Steve's panic spiked, knowing the man was fully capable of pulling that trigger.

"Wait, don't!" Steve jumped out from behind the bricks, in full view of Kruger with his hands cautiously held in front of him. "Please don't."

Kruger snapped his gun back to point square at Steve's chest and squeezed the trigger. Steve jumped, but an empty click was all that came out of the gun. As if on queue, the woman jammed her elbow hard into Kruger's side, making him cringe and growl. He retaliated by pushing her away, where she tripped and went straight over the edge of the wharf. Steve rushed to edge as Kruger started sprinting to the other end. The woman was okay, treading water as she sputtered. She was very wet, and probably a little grumpy that her hair and makeup had been ruined, but she was okay. She looked up at Steve.

"What are you doing?" She asked, bewildered. "Go get him!"

Steve almost laughed. He sprinted to the end of the wharf, where Kruger had climbed inside the most bizarre contraption Steve had ever seen. It was pulling away, sinking deeper and deeper into the water. Without hesitating, Steve dived in. The shock of the cold water nearly knocked Steve's breath away as it hit his bare chest. The water dragged along his back as he swam, making it a little more difficult to catch up to the tiny sub. But he did, within a matter of seconds. Steve grabbed hold of the pipe sticking out of the back end, faltering a little as the speed of the sub dragged him along. He pulled himself ahead of the sub, coming up along the side of the pilot's compartment. Steve could just barely make out Kruger's wide, unbelieving eyes through the water. But Steve was starting to run out of air, so he had to act fast.

He drew his fist back, then slammed it against the glass, which cracked but did not break. Kruger began to panic. Steve reared back again, determined this time, and punched the glass one more time. It hurt his knuckles, but the glass did finally break. Water rushed into the compartment, and the sub's failsafe activated, lifting the glass canopy so Steve could grab the struggling man by the jacket and drag him to the surface. By the looks of it, Kruger didn't know how to swim. When they broke through the water, Steve took another, sweet tasting lungful of air. Kruger came up beside him, choking and struggling to get away. Angry, Steve grabbed him by his shoulder and tossed him with all his strength, kicking his legs at the same time so he wouldn't go under. Kruger flew through the air, a strangled gasp escaping his mouth as he landed heavily back on the wharf. Steve quickly swam to the ladder only a few feet away, pulling himself up. He was faintly aware of something wet and heavy hanging off of his back. When he stepped onto the dock, Kruger was struggling to his knees. He swung at Steve wildly, his hand clutching a knife. Steve jumped out of the way, kicking his leg up to knock Kruger in his wounded shoulder. The knife clattered away, as well as the blue vial of the serum that had been tucked in his pocket. It crashed against a crate and broke open. Seeing the blue liquid spill onto the ground made Steve even angrier. All of Erskine's hard work, gone.

Steve grabbed Kruger by his lapels and shook him roughly.

"Who the hell are you?" He shouted. But the man just glared back at him, unafraid.

"I am not afraid of you, geflügelte Feind." Kruger spat back with a thick German accent. "You may have won this battle, but the war is not over!"

"Answer the question!" Steve dug his thumb into the bullet hole in Krugers shoulder. The man gave a strangled cry of pain before once again fixing a look hatred on Steve.

"The first of many." He spoke with conviction. "Cut off one head…" Kruger dislodged a fake tooth with his tongue and crunched it in his mouth. Steve had no doubts about what it was. "…two more shall take its place."

Steve watched with increasing frustration as Kruger began to foam at the mouth, the cyanide working quickly.

"Hail Hydra!" Kruger's body seized one last time, and that was it.

Steve laid Kruger's body on the ground. So Hydra _had_ been behind all of this. Steve sighed through his nose. He just decided who his number one enemy was. Steve lifted his hands up, staring at them in disbelief. Had he really just done all of that? Steve looked down at his body, at the prominent abdominal muscles and bulging biceps. It was unbelievable. A complete one-eighty from the scrawny beanpole he had been. That, and then some it seemed.

Steve nervously reached his right hand under his left arm, feeling around on his back. His finger brushed something light, and he took it gently, feeling a tugging sensation coming from his shoulder blade, but not quite the same. Steve pulled, bringing the thing in his fingers gently around to the front. Steve forgot how to breath for a second. There were feathers in his fingers, pure white and glistening from the water. Now that Steve could see it, he could _feel_ it, an appendage that grew out of his shoulder blade that he somehow hadn't noticed before. It took Steve several moments to wrap his mind around just exactly what he had in his hand. _He had wings._

* * *

Well, he had _a_ wing. As in singular, just one.

When Steve had finally managed to make his way back to the SSR Operations building, and had given a full report, Howard Stark immediately took him away to a small examination room, followed by Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips. Stark looked shaken, but was calm as he did a thorough check up of the wing. They drew his blood as well, and Steve watched the red liquid flow through the tube.

"Why didn't you tell us that you were born with a jump socket in your shoulder blade?" Howard mumbled. Steve shrugged, making the wing twitch.

"It didn't come up? You never asked?"

"Well, my friend, I don't think it matters now." Howard wrapped his stethoscope around his neck as he sat down on a stool in front of Steve. When he spoke again, he addressed everyone. "Erskine's formula was designed to build upon all aspects of the subject's anatomy and psyche. So we shouldn't be too surprised that the formula unlocked your winged-genes and brought them out. But, quite frankly, the wing is very underdeveloped. Even if you had a matching one, you wouldn't get off the ground, Steve. It's too small, not enough feathers and hardly has any muscle mass. It's… practically useless."

Steve didn't look at the inventor, but he couldn't say he was too surprised by the diagnoses. Just by the way it felt, Steve could already tell that the wing was just a fluke accident. It was his unexpected side affect, he supposed. But what good was one wing, fully fledged or not? Steve sighed, trying not to be too disappointed.

Just then there was a knock on the door. A man in a dark gray suite and glasses stepped into the examination room. A blue and white pin on his tie glinted in the light - the man the Colonel Phillips had been talking with earlier. The Colonel greeted the man as he looked at Steve in a hungry fashion.

"This is Dr. Thomas Ash." He announced to the room. "Head Chairman of the Society of Avian Affairs."

Steve sat up at that, surprised that a man of such a position would be an associate of the SSR. He wasn't sure how to great such a man - a salute seemed unnecessary. Dr. Ash walked up to Steve, offering his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers." He said as Steve shook hands with him. The doctor's hands were sweaty. "Congratulations on your success... and condolences for Dr. Erskine. He was an esteemed colleague of mine. Truly, his work was far beyond our time. It's a pity he didn't get the chance to continue."

Steve nodded but didn't say anything - he wasn't sure if there was anything to say at all. Dr. Ash continued. "I take it you've already gotten your new appendage checked? Any plans for the future about it?"

The wing twitched like it knew people were talking about it. Steve put a hand on it, sighing through his nose. He knew what he had to do. Steve looked back up at the doctor, and was slightly taken aback by the intense look of lust on the man's face, Ash's eyes locked onto the white feathers. Steve cleared his throat before speaking, thinking he was just imagining things. But there was something about the man that made Steve very uncomfortable.

"I have, Doctor. I'm going to get it cut."

Dr. Ash seemed to relax with relief and nodded. "I think it's for the best. I'm sure I can schedule something for you later today. However, you would have to actually register as a winged-folk with the SAA in order to be eligible for the operation. But that shouldn't take too long, just some paperwork we have to do. Afterwards, your pectoral avis and any other extra muscles will atrophy away and all you'll be left with is a scar. It'll be like it never happened."

Dr. Ash looked at the wing for a long moment. Then he licked his lips and said "You'll have to forgive me for asking, but would you be willing to donate your wing to science after the surgery? There aren't a lot of people willing to cut their wings, so this presents a grand opportunity for us at the Society."

Steve shrugged absently with one nod of his head, also staring at his wing. He did not see the Doctor grin widely, his eyes darkened.

"Excellent! I will begin making calls immediately." Dr Ash turned and hastily headed for the door. But he stopped in the doorway one last time and looked over his shoulder. "I would also like to congratulate you on breaking the record for oldest age to grow wings." Then the Chairman walked away, laughing at his own joke.

"The Colonel and I have other business to attend to as well, regarding that submarine we now have to fish out of the Brooklyn Harbor." Howard scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Agent Carter, would you see to it that Steve here gets to where he needs to go?"

Peggy gave Howard a sour look - she was not a babysitter. But she nodded.

Both men left, leaving just Steve and Agent Carter. Steve sighed again as he extended the wing, something he was still struggling with. He had to agree that it was a pretty pathetic wing, only about a foot longer than his arm. His feathers weren't long and stiff like Bucky's. The white feathers were thin and frail, and looked like they would break easily. Steve reached out to touch them, feeling the small fibers and how light they were. They were beautiful, really. Steve wondered what bird they came from. Many winged-folk went their whole lives without knowing what bird they were attributed to. He knew that Ms. Turner was a red-winged black bird, but she had only figured it out in the later part of her life. Bucky still didn't know what his bird was, only that it was probably some kind of owl.

"What kind of bird do you think this is?" He absently asked Agent Carter. She didn't answer right away, thinking.

"If I'm being perfectly honest, I'd say it looks like a chicken wing." Steve chuckled at that. "But, you know, now that I look at it, it almost seems like a dove."

Steve nodded at that, considering it. Maybe Bucky would have an idea. Boy, Steve couldn't wait to tell Bucky about this. But he knew he would need evidence. The story alone was too far fetched to convince his friend of his crazy transformation. The necklace Ms. Turner had given him popped into his head, and it gave him an idea. Steve picked out a feather, a sturdy looking one, and yanked it out.

"Ah!" Steve cried out as the quill spurted a little blood as it became dislodged. "Damn, that really does hurt."

"What are you doing?" Agent Carter asked. "That feather isn't going to be worth much."

Steve held up the feather, twirling it in the light. "I know. I'm going to get it preserved. Give it as a gift."

"Whatever you say." Agent Carter stood to leave. "I'll show you to the car then."

Steve took another moment to stare at his chosen feather before tucking it gently into the breast pocket of his uniform. Steve looked back at his wing again, taking it in in its entirety one last time. The feathers beneath the one that Steve had plucked were blooming with red, that magnificent color that Steve had seen so much of in the past two hours.

Steve decided he greatly disliked that color.

* * *

A/N: This is a _very _long chapter, but a lot of it is taken straight from the movie. I needed to get this one out of the way because I'm really excited about the next chapter, and you should be too. It's going to be great.

Let me know what you guys think about this chapter please, because I'm kind of skeptical of it. Does it make sense? Does it flow well? The last chapter only got one review and it was very disappointing because I was proud of that chapter. I mean... if nobody's reading this, then I'll spend less time on it. But thank you to the people who have reviewed in past chapters and to all who have favorited and followed.

EDIT: This chapter has been slightly rewritten for future plot purposes.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	8. His Flock

October, 1943

* * *

It was night time, but the enormously full moon emitted enough light to see clearly. There weren't many clouds, but the air pressure systems told of a big storm coming in from the north. The rolling pine forests of the foothills of the Alps were silent, the beginnings of the Great Hungarian Plains stretching out to the south for miles with the peaks of the Carpathian Mountains just barely visible above the dark horizon. To the west, the Alps continued with their towering monoliths as far as the eye could see, all the way through the landlocked border of the Italian peninsula and into France. The stars were bright tonight, clear and twinkling in this rural nightscape that seemed to come straight out of a dream.

They flew in a V-formation, one at the head with three on each side. From the ground they looked like a normal flock of birds, though it was odd that such a small flock would be flying at this time of night. As it was, there was nobody around to ponder it. The thickly-wooded forest hadn't seen human visitors for years, not since the great westward expansion. So the flock flew undisturbed in their course, as silent as the forest beneath them, deeper and deeper into hostile airspace somewhere above Italy.

Bucky adjusted his goggles, pushing them back up his nose. He was glad that his commanding officers had the common sense to supply him and his squad with padded helmets and thick leather jackets on this chilly night. They would have been much more miserable otherwise. His wings were still cold, however, and he couldn't wait to get this scouting trip over with so they could return to base and get some rest. He and his squad were in the middle of dinner when they had suddenly been assigned this little mission, which Bucky did not appreciate one bit. But they had said it was of the utmost importance that this got done as soon as possible. So they geared up and took off in search for this "Nachtschlag", whatever that was.

Bucky heard a _ping_ off to his left. One of his troops had spotted something. It was difficult to talk to each other while flying, so all winged-soldiers were given specially designed communicators – "specially designed" meaning they were given a metal ring to wear on their finger to tap against the skinny metal tubes that they strapped to their gloves. At first, Bucky had been a little annoyed with the fact that the sound the rings made sounded a lot like chirping songbirds. But it carried over the wind and had a frequency that was too high for most humans to hear, so he couldn't complain too much. Bucky angled himself to rise above the rest of his troops, high enough for him to see everyone. Corporal Specialist Clark had one hand raised over her head, tapping her ring. The other hand was pointing down below her, where Bucky could just barely make out the subtle movement of the trees and a dim, almost undetectable blue light.

Bucky stared at the spot for a few seconds, trying to decipher just exactly what he was looking at. It was difficult to make out anything besides the trees, even with his specialized vision. They had to get closer. Chances were this was probably what they were looking for. Bucky returned to his spot at the front of the formation, tapping his ring twice and dropping into a shallow dive, his squad following close behind. They descended together until they were just barely skimming the tops of the trees. The blue light became more apparent as they got closer. It was definitely moving through the trees, whatever it was, and was now accompanied by the whir and clang of heavy machinery. Bucky held up a fist and then two fingers while tapping his ring, signaling to the rest of his squad that they were going to make a landing in the trees. He aimed for a spot where there weren't quite as many trees, about one hundred feet in front of the path that the blue-lighted convoy was headed.

Bucky angled his body as he came upon a tall evergreen, stroking his wings faster to cancel his momentum. His boots lighted on the thick limb of the tree and Bucky reached out to grab another branch for balance while his other went to his back to keep his rifle from sliding around. As soon as Bucky was stable on his perch, he furled his wings tight against his body and dropped down further into the canopy, two other members of his squad landing in the same tree, while the four others split themselves to two neighboring trees. The long needles poked at Bucky through his clothes, making it hard to find a comfortable way to crouch on his branch. The further down he climbed, the darker it became. When he settled in his spot, he listened as the rustle of his troops getting situated slowly faded to nothing. Bucky made a _tss_ sound with his tongue and teeth, counting the following echoes of his squad sounding off. The two that were in the same tree as him were perched above him on either side, and there were two in a tree to his left and two in a tree in front of him.

"How far are we from base?" Bucky whispered softly.

"About ten klicks." It was Private Mooney who answered him, equally as quiet. "Give or take some."

Bucky moved his goggles to his head and kept his eyes trained on the unseen ground below. He swung his rifle in front of him, clicking the safety off. "Everybody be ready."

"Like you've got to tell us twice." Staff Sergeant Garcia's voice whispered behind him as the safety of his own gun clicked off. The rest of the team followed suit.

"Hey Serge." Bucky snapped his head to the left, where he could just barely see the head of Sergeant Specialist Hodges poking out of the needles of the tree next to him. "There going to be fireworks tonight?"

Bucky considered it. "Have them ready. Wait for my signal."

They sat in silence. Bucky didn't need to see his troops to know that they were as high strung as he was, prepared for anything. Bucky had a working guess about what was giving off the blue light. Still, he had to consider the possibility that there might have just been some anomaly in the woods with the glow as well. But Bucky highly doubted it. Either way, they were prepared for that, too. Bucky did a run through of his soldiers, cataloging their skills and techniques for the hundredth time since they had been assigned as the flight correspondence for the 107th infantry. The number of winged-soldiers that enlisted for the armed forces was only a small fraction of the entire military, so flight squads were kept at a minimum of four to eight soldiers, depending on their urgency in the region.

Staff Sergeant Scott Garcia, from San Francisco, California. He was twenty-six, the same age as Bucky. He helped keep the squad in line, even though he did have a sense of humor that was a little crass at times. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes – your average Latino. Except his wings were light, his edge and covert feathers had swirls of white and tan, but also speckled with grey on the edges. His flight feathers had the same tan in the middle and white on the outer edges, with bigger splotches of grey striping across them. He was the best shot in the squad, usually in charge of long range eliminations. He prayed before every mission.

Private First Class Keenan Mooney, from Ocean City, Maryland. An all-American boy, dirty blond hair and bright green eyes, that was just a lick over nineteen. His feathers were black in the center but morphed into a blue on the edges, with white underparts. He was a good soldier who obeyed orders, a winning personality, and he had a lot of potential for moving up in the ranks. Smart, strong… and very full of himself. The kid was a show off, and it had gotten him in trouble more than once. As it was, he was the squad's best flyer, and he knew it. Bucky just hoped he wouldn't pull anything tonight.

Everybody froze as the sound of clanging machinery reached their ears through the trees. The steady pulse of stomping feet accompanied it, filling the air as not long after, the blue light began to filter up into the branches where the squad sat. Bucky watched in amazement as a troupe of thirty or more soldiers marched beneath them. Some of them were adorned in large suites of mechanized armor that made them tower over the others. The guns they carried and the battery packs on the armor were emitting blue light that hummed with energy and reached into the branches, highlighting the silhouettes of the seven winged-soldiers hiding there. Bucky's skin and feathers prickled with the charged atmosphere. They crept through the trees underneath Bucky and his soldiers, but they were very silent about it, as if they too were trying not to be discovered.

Failed in that aspect, Bucky thought. The soldiers wore masks over their faces, black camo makeup on their eyes, and pointed helmets that were so famously German. Bucky didn't see the swastika anywhere on their uniforms, but he did see the red skull and tentacles emblem that had been so common around these parts recently. Bucky didn't know who these guys were, but he did know that if they spotted him and his soldiers in the trees, they would start shooting. Luckily, the night was so deep that none of them thought to look up. Which made Bucky wonder, why were they mobilizing now? There was nothing around for miles, so they couldn't have been planning to attack or meet up with anyone or anything. Were they scouting? Were there more of them somewhere in the mountains?

Bucky couldn't think of a reason, but a force of this size acting alone could spell trouble. The only thing that made sense was that they were heading toward the base that the Allies had set up just outside the French-Italian border. At the pace they were going, they would make it there by sunrise. It was a far-fetched assumption, but an enemy was an enemy, and Bucky wasn't willing to take that risk. He had seen these strange weapons in action, and he knew that leaving a number like this alone would be devastating. But he also knew that his squad couldn't take them all out alone. Bucky decided the best thing to do now would be to throw a wrench in their plans, and hopefully slow them down. He looked across the canopy where Sergeant Specialist Hodges was perched. She had her gaze fixed on the men beneath her, not looking at Bucky. However, Corporal Hodges was in the same tree and saw Bucky trying to get their attention, and quietly tapped the other girl on the shoulder, pointing at Bucky.

Sergeant Specialist Nicole Hodges and Corporal Anne Hodges, both from Denver, Colorado. Sisters, whose parents had the great fortune – or misfortune – of being blessed with two winged-children. They almost looked like twins, both with light blonde hair and light eyes that betrayed their German ancestry. But Nicole was actually a year and a half older at twenty-three, and was the squad's explosives expert. Anne was just as knowledgeable, and helped her sister with building and detonating any bombs they could carry. Bucky supposed that if you grew up in a state where it was illegal to sell fireworks, you learned how to make your own. They had similar wings as well, with orange-brown edge and covert feathers that lightened at the tips and darkened into blackish-brown in the flight feathers. But their primary feathers was where they differed. Nicole's feathers were tinged blue, but Anne's were more on the purple side. They were energetic girls, and made an effective team.

Bucky started making hand signals at the girls, both watching him closely. When he was done, they both slid their packs off and started to unload small ammunitions. They worked quietly, the rest of the squad watching them as they prepared the explosives and gave a thumbs up to Bucky. Bucky nodded, holding up a hand telling them to wait. The German soldiers beneath them were situated in a block that only parted to move around trees. The ones in the suits didn't seem to turn very well, so they knocked into a lot of trees. They were easy targets for the sisters, and if those battery packs were as volatile a power source as they were bullets, then there were going to be some serious flames tonight. Bucky saw the outlines of his troops getting ready for takeoff at his signal, their eyes on him. Bucky looked back at the Hodges sisters, both facing in opposite directions along the block of enemy soldiers but looking at him, prepared to throw the bombs. He knew that he and his soldiers would only have about three seconds to get clear as soon as they released the detonators. Bucky licked the sweat off his top lip as he slowly began to unfurl his wings, and tapped his ring.

Bucky and his squad exploded out of the canopy, taking to the air followed quickly by Nicole and Anne with empty arms and empty packs. Pumping his wings as fast as they would go, Bucky rose through the night air as fast as he could, looking back once to count the six others behind him. He and his team seemed to just barely make it clear of the treetops before the night was lit up like a Christmas tree. Bucky could feel the warmth of the explosions through his leather jacket, and even though they weren't on the ground, he still felt the shockwave pulse through the air. Four explosions, one after the other, shook the air and the trees, shattering the silence of the night. There were also a couple other, different explosions that resonated deeper and painted the night in purple in Bucky's peripherals. If Bucky had to guess, the battery packs on those suits of armor were combusting. He could hear the sound of screams and yelling in German soon after. The sound gave him a deep, morbid satisfaction. It must have been mutual, because after a few seconds of flight, Garcia started laughing.

"Holy shit!" He shouted, looking back at the sisters. "What did you guys put in those things?"

"We would tell ya-" Nicole began, Anne finishing with "but then we'd have to kill ya."

"Have I ever told you girls how much I love you?" Bucky shouted back.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Barnes." Nicole responded. Anne laughed.

Bucky chuckled as he slid his goggles back over his eyes. They fell back into formation, heading back the way they had come. There was no hurry, so they cruised at a low altitude over the dark forest and away from the fire burning behind them, whooping and hollering as they went. Leftover adrenalin rushed through them. Their mission was over, so Bucky pointed them in the direction of basecamp. Clark came forward to fly just above Bucky.

"Should I call us in?" She asked.

"That would be a good idea." Bucky nodded. "Don't want them shooting at us accidentally."

Corporal Specialist Megan 'Black Eagle' Clark, from Phoenix, Arizona. She was in charge of communications between the squad and whatever operation they were assigned to. Clark was Navajo, and had also been assigned to take part in the new idea of using the intricate and vast Navajo language to relay messages as an unbreakable code. So far it was extremely effective. Her wings were black through and through, but despite her name, Bucky highly doubted they were the wings of an eagle. She was older than Bucky, but he didn't know by how much, as she was also the quietest in the squad. But her eyes spoke of an unfathomable wisdom, and she was respected by everyone in the squad. She had a brother who was fighting in the Pacific, named Nathaniel.

Clark nodded, flying off a ways from the group to make the call with her long dark braid trailing behind her. Clark was not very tall, just above five feet, so it always surprised Bucky that she could manage to get off the ground while carrying her own portable comms unit in her pack. He had tried to carry that thing before, it wasn't easy. But her strength was nothing to laugh about. She was also the best combatant in the squad, and could take out any of them in a wrestling match within seconds. She was a beast.

"Master Sergeant Barnes?"

"I've told you before, Johnny." Bucky cut off the young Private that came to fly underneath him. "It's either Sergeant Barnes or just Barnes."

Private John Summers, from Dayton, Ohio. He was the unofficial medic of the team, since he had been in the middle of Med School when the mandate went out. His official army medical training was still in progress. Much like Bucky, Johnny was scared to death of the war and dying, but his fear was much more apparent. He had dark shaggy hair and brown eyes and was rather scrawny for his age. But not like Steve-scrawny. His wings were black and white stripped which mixed into gray on top, and for some reason the tertiary feathers near his shoulder blades were much longer than normal, trailing down his back with small tufts on the end, almost like a peacock. Bucky had never seen that before. At the delicate age of twenty-one, he was already engaged to a young girl back home that he was desperate to return to. He kept a picture of her with him all the time.

"Right, Sergeant Barnes." Summers continued. "What was that back there? Those suits of armor… I've never seen anything like that before."

"Neither have I, Johnny." Bucky responded. "Luckily for us, that's not our department. Just a good thing we stopped them from going where ever it was they were heading."

"How are our troops on the ground going to be able to fight against something like that? A lot of people could get hurt."

"Well, they're obviously not entirely indestructible. You saw it yourself."

"I'm just saying, our boys could be in a lot of trouble if they're mass-producing those things somewhere." Johnny scrunched his eyebrows together. "And where were they going? If the enemy is advancing somewhere, then isn't that where we should be?"

"I completely agree." Bucky reached down and put a hand between the Private's wings in a reassuring gesture. "If you come up with answers to those questions, I'll let you help me make the full report. The Generals need to have a good idea what our enemies are up to, so every thought counts."

Johnny nodded but looked away, his face still troubled. Johnny also happened to be the newest member of their little squad. He had replaced Corporal Lincoln after a rather gruesome run in with anti-aircraft weapons about a month ago. Anne got promoted and then they threw a Private straight out of training into their little nest. He was still finding his place among the team.

"Relax, Johnny." Keenan said. He was flying on his back, his hands clasped behind his head and eyes closed. "It was a job well done thanks to our lovely combustion demons, so let's leave it at that."

Anne flew above Keenan and poked him hard in the stomach, making him curl into a ball and fall away. "That's _Corporal_ Combustion Demon to you."

They returned to base within ten minutes, approaching slowly so the sentries standing guard would know they weren't hostiles, even though they had already been notified that the flight correspondence was coming back. As soon as they all touched ground, Bucky removed his helmet and identified himself. His ears tingled from being pressed against his head. The sentries lowered their guns and stepped aside, allowing them to enter the base camp.

The place that they called base was actually a small French village by the name of Le Coude, which Nicole had told Bucky meant _the bend_. Or it had been. It was abandoned, evacuated a long time ago under the threat of the German invasion. And by small, Bucky meant _small_. Only about fifty buildings in total. But the army only used two; one for a mess hall, and another for operations control. Which was where Bucky was heading now, his squad following close behind.

As the team walked through Le Coude, Bucky looked over his shoulder at Summers. "You think about those answers, Private?"

Johnny didn't say or do anything for a while, but then nodded his head. He still seemed uncertain, but Bucky felt confident he would be fine.

Bucky stepped into the barn that the higher-ups had chosen to set up their command center, maps hanging on the wall and strategy boards laid across saw horses. Technology had been transported into the building for long range communications and enemy detection, but it wasn't being used at the moment. Around the center table with the biggest map of Europe sat two men, waiting patiently. They stood as Bucky and his soldiers entered. He had no idea what time it was, but Bucky had to guess that it was well past midnight. They had waited up solely for them. Bucky approached the men and saluted.

"Colonel Keith, Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs." Bucky snapped his hand down to his side with practiced swiftness. "Master Sergeant Barnes, reporting in."

"At ease, soldier." Colonel Keith said dryly. He was a hardened man, the sides of his head beginning to gray with stress and time. But Bucky knew the man had a soft spot for winged-folk. His son was one. "Was your mission successful?"

"It was, sir. I'm fairly confident we found the…"

"'Nachtschlag'." Anne piped up behind him. "It means _night strike_."

"I see." Colonel Keith waved his hand. "Proceed."

Bucky gave the short version of their encounter. When he mentioned the explosive devices, Sergeant and Corporal Hodges stood a little straighter. Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs gave the girls a shocked look.

"How did you manage to get your hands on such equipment?" He asked. The Lieutenant Colonel was a short, jumpy man that reminded Bucky of a frightened terrier. He did _not_ have a soft spot for winged-folk. The sisters shared a look before Nicole spoke up.

"We built them, sir."

"You _built_ them? Out of what?"

"Well," Anne started. "Do you remember the car that was given to us for our exclusive use?"

"Are you telling me that you dismantled an army regulation vehicle and built bombs out of the scraps?"

"No sir." The Corporal continued. "I'm saying we dismantled an army regulation vehicle and built bombs and grenades and mines and projectiles out of the scraps."

Private Mooney snickered, but Jacobs did not look amused. Bucky was trying really hard to hide the smile on his face. Colonel Keith was, too.

"Your men are dismissed." Colonel Keith said after a moment. Bucky turned and nodded to his squad over his shoulder. Mooney, Clark, and the Hodges sisters turned to leave. Summers looked reluctant, but one look from Bucky and he stood firm in his spot. He looked nervous, and Bucky couldn't blame him. Privates weren't usually allowed to listen in on mission reports, much less give input. As soon as the others were gone, Colonel Keith sat on the edge of the table.

"Okay, gents." He said, removing his cap and wiping back his hair. "Give me the details."

Bucky let Sergeant Garcia take over from there. Scott went deep into the description of the soldiers and the weapons they were carrying. He was always the best with words. When he began to describe the suits of armor they had seen, Keith and Jacobs straightened. As Scott finished his part of the report, Keith stood and stepped toward Bucky and his men.

"You and your men have done us a real favor today." Keith said, looking each of them in the eye. "If we had waited, who knows what might have happened if they had made it to this camp."

"We can only speculate that was what they were doing." Bucky looked down, his mind working. "It could have been possible that they were headed somewhere else."

"Where else would they go?" Lieutenant Colonel Jacobs scoffed. "We are the last remaining contingency, the front lines have been pushed fifty miles back into Italy, and any other vestiges of Nazi opposition has been eliminated. Where else would they possibly go?"

Bucky didn't have an answer to that. Bucky looked over his shoulder at Summers. The Private gawked at him, his feathers standing on end, but he had already captured the attention of Keith and Jacobs as well. Summers flubbed for a second, his mouth hanging open as he tried to get his thoughts in order. Jacobs gave him a stern look.

"Azzano?" Summers finally said. Keith perked an eyebrow at that. "It's one of the only Italian stations still occupied by-"

"We know what Azzano is, son." Keith said gently, but the man was never one for having his time wasted.

"Right, sorry sir." Private Summers took a deep breath. "The Nachtschlag was heading south by south west, sir. While it's a possibility that they were heading here, I think we should also consider that they came straight out of Austria and were heading toward Azzano. I…heard our forces have been meeting some tough resistance there."

The room was quiet as everybody considered his explanation. Bucky wasn't even sure Summers was breathing. He had to admit, the man had a point. He was also a little annoyed that he hadn't drawn that conclusion himself. Keith puckered his lips as he thought. Then he turned to Jacobs.

"Remind me to get in contact with our forces in Azzano, tomorrow." Keith stated. "If our enemies are sending backup, then it's possible that our own troops might need some support as well."

Keith turned back to the winged-soldiers. "You've done well here tonight. Go get some rest. Dismissed."

As one, Bucky, Garcia, and Summers saluted. Bucky turned on his heel and exited the barn, Scott and Johnny falling in behind him. As soon as they were outside in the cold fall night, Bucky looked back at Johnny, who had a hand to his chest taking deep breaths.

"Nice job back there."

"Yeah, who knew the man was so smart!" Garcia said as he wrapped an arm and a wing around Johnny's shoulders.

"I thought I was going to puke." Johnny's voice still trembled a little. "Is it always like that?"

"You get used to it." Bucky shrugged. "You two better turn in. Who knows what we'll be doing tomorrow."

"I don't think I can sleep now that I'm all amped up." Scott stated. He rubbed his stomach as it started growling. "All those explosions made me hungry."

Bucky huffed a laugh. He felt the same, to tell the truth.

"I doubt there's anything but scraps in the mess hall right now." Johnny said as he licked his lips.

"I'll take those scraps." Bucky smiled.

The three men headed to the large wooden storage house that had been deemed the mess hall. Bucky expected it to be dark, but there was lantern light drifting through the door and the faint sound of music. Bucky grinned. It seemed they weren't the only ones feeling peckish. Bucky stepped through the door to see the rest of his squad sitting around a table lit up by two lanterns. Clark was sitting on top of the table with her comms unit, messing with the dials to try and get a better signal from the radio waves she had commandeered. Keenan sat with his feet propped on top of the table, scrapping the last bits of food out of a bowl. The sisters were messing with bits of metal and wire in front of them, their bowls already empty. A pile of leather jackets and helmets was left discarded on the floor in the corner. Three extra bowls were left out, along with steaming mugs of coffee. Bucky dropped his helmet and jacket in the pile and pulled up a chair.

"Where on earth did you manage to get coffee at this hour?" Bucky picked up the mug, taking a long whiff of the aromatic liquid.

"It's amazing what you can get when you ask nicely." Keenan grinned as he licked his spoon. "We figured you'd join us."

"You know us too well." Scott said has he dug into his food. It was hard for winged-soldiers to reach their daily nutritional needs. It seemed to Bucky that any time he wasn't flying or fighting, he was looking for something to eat. Nicole sat across the bench from Bucky, her hair looked almost white in the lantern light. Her blue eyes were fixed on the thingamajig in her hands, finger working meticulously. Bucky would have been lying to himself if he didn't think she was a _little_ pretty.

"I thought you guys had used all the scraps from the car?" He asked the girls, swirling his spoon around in what was probably fruit preserves. Neither of them looked up, but both of them smiled mischievously.

"Remember the old motorcycle they confiscated that nobody uses?" Nicole wiggled her eyebrows at Bucky.

Everyone around the table laughed, even Clark grinned at them. She settled on a frequency with the least amount of static and sat cross-legged on the table, her long black wings draped off the edge. The music was classical, a waltz with a light and cheery beat, set at just the right volume to be background music. Garcia pointed at the sisters, his mouth fully of jelly.

"You guys are going to dismantle something one day and get all of us in trouble." He said. "And I hope I'm there to help."

"I mean," Anne made a face. "What did they expect, giving a bunch of people with wings a car? We were never going to use it."

"There are some places that you can't fly to." Johnny looked over his bowl.

"Yeah, like Hell." Keenan nodded. Anne smacked his foot, making the Private giggle as he flapped his wings a little so he wouldn't fall backwards.

Bucky sat back, listening to the gab of his squad. It probably wasn't a good idea that they had let themselves get so comfortable with each other. Anything could happen that would leave the squad with another member gone. But Bucky would rather mourn a passing friend than feel pity over a lost stranger. And besides, on these nights when he was encompassed by the lighthearted presence of his squad, Bucky could briefly forget that he was at war. This was the first time in his life that he had winged friends that were his age, and it filled a hole in Bucky's life that he hadn't even known was there. He connected with each of his teammates deeply. As much as Bucky hated to stretch the metaphor, they were his flock. They were his family. Bucky would protect them no matter what, and they would do the same. When Bucky was done with his small meal, he stayed in the mess hall with his squad sipping his coffee, the comfort of their company more appealing than a sleepless night alone in his tent. Bucky only wished that his best friend, his brother, could be there with him. Then his flock would be complete.

Bucky wondered what Steve was doing back home.

* * *

Steve cringed, reaching a hand up to massage his shoulder and relieve the ache that grew in his shoulder blade. The stitches of the puckered red scar made his skin itch, and Steve was glad they were in a place that he couldn't reach. The flight muscles in his chest and back contracted involuntarily, trying to move the wing that wasn't there anymore. Although, Steve could swear that sometimes he could still _feel _it, like it was still hanging in a wet heap of feathers off his back, or sometimes he could feel the wind catching on it. It startled Steve the first time it had happened, a strange coldness where the missing wing was as he was getting his blood drawn by a nurse again. He had almost smacked her in the face.

They told him that phantom limb sensations were very common in amputees. It would go away with time. The flight muscles were getting weaker, just as Stark had predicted. His scar from the surgery was mostly healed, in fact he had an appointment the next day to get the stitches removed. The scar looked like a star on his shoulder blade. But Steve couldn't help but feel like he had been robbed. Dr Ash had said that by donating his wing to science, he had given them the opportunity to study a wing that wasn't damaged or decayed, since most of their specimens came from accident victims and the dead. Steve wasn't sure how he felt about his wing being dissected and tested on, and he grudgingly left the SAA with his chosen feather in his pocket.

Steve twirled that feather in front of him now as the pain subsided. It had been preserved a couple days ago, so Steve kept it on his necklace of feathers and waited for the day that he would give it to Bucky. The thought of Bucky made Steve drop the feather and return to the stationary paper in front of him. He hadn't written to his friend since the last night at Camp Lehigh, and even then he wasn't sure his letter made it to him. Their letters had always been closely monitored. So much had happened since then, Steve didn't know where to start. He tapped the end of his pen impatiently against the paper, annoyed with himself that he didn't have anything to say to his best friend. The door to his room suddenly burst open and the stage manager poked his head in, smiling at Steve.

"Hey big guy." He tapped his watch. "Fifteen minute notice."

"Okay, thanks." Steve said, rubbing his shoulder again.

"Your back bugging you again?" The stage manager quirked his lips. "You know, my aunt uses this great salve that she makes herself to ease pain in her joints. Or to help with her ulcers, I can't remember. Old family recipe, I could lend you some."

Steve sat staring at the man with his mouth hanging open, not sure whether he should be insulted or disgusted. He decided to go with polite.

"Thank you, maybe later." He rolled his shoulder. "I'll be ready in a minute."

The stage manager nodded and finally left. Steve bowed his face into his hands, taking a deep breath. He turned back to the paper and picked up the pen.

_Dear Bucky,_

_So my life has deteriorated to being a super-soldier wearing tights and traveling the country with chorus girls and using ulcer cream to help with the pain of the wing that I don't have anymore. How's it going with you?_

Steve stared at the paper for a second before crumpling it into a ball and thumping his head on the dresser. Words could not even begin to describe how much he did not want to walk out that door. Steve sighed again, straightening up and gazing at the little metal shield that sat waiting in the corner. It was amazing the thing hadn't been collected and turned into a barrel of bullets. He stood up and picked up the shield, sliding his arm through the straps. He caught his reflection in the back of the shield and stared at it for a second. It could always be worse, couldn't it?

"Yeah," Steve mumbled. "I could still be that scrawny kid from Brooklyn without a prayer of making a difference."

Steve smirked, collecting his gloves and cowl and heading out the door with the pen and paper left behind. The hallway was bustling with the other performers and dancers. The sound of a large crowd filtered through the walls. A pair of girls passed Steve, one winking at him. God, those skirts were so short.

"Hey Steve." She smiled at him. "See you out there."

Steve's mind jumped into over drive. Should he say _good luck_ or _break a leg_? He was speaking before he made a decision.

"Good legs."

The girls giggled and walked away. Steve felt his face turn bright red, resisting the urge to bash his own head in with his shield. He had been kidding himself earlier. Somewhere, maybe not as deep down as Steve would have liked to think, he still was that scrawny kid from Brooklyn.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so first thing I want to say; don't expect all future chapters to be this long. There was actually a lot more I wanted to add, but by then it was already 6,000 words. NEXT THING:

Scott Garcia - Barn Owl. Keenan Mooney - Black-backed Kingfisher. Megan Clark - Turkey Vulture. Hodges sisters - White-Tailed Sea Eagle. John Summers - Harpy Eagle. (So you can go look up what their wings look like in case I did a crappy job.)

I took some creative liberties, especially with the rankings. I hope people don't mind me putting in a few of my own characters. If so, don't worry...they won't be around much longer. Please let me know what you think, reviews are greatly appreciated. :)

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	9. Together

October, 1943

* * *

Not every day was fight-and-survive in the army. Some days, between moving from place to place and scouting for enemy camps, there was absolutely nothing going on. Soldiers would mill about the base camp, finding mindless chores to keep them occupied such as cleaning their gear and taking inventory, some wrote letters to their loved ones, others found little groups to play card games with, and still others just seemed content to sit and stare into a far away place. Whether or not there were any thoughts in their heads was a mystery Bucky would never solve. As it always was on these lag days, Bucky found himself extremely _bored_. But this was no surprise. Even when he was little, Bucky always hated sitting around and doing nothing. He had caused his teachers more than enough strife with his wiggly attitude, kicking his legs and tapping on the desks. Then he grew _wings_ and it was a straight shot downhill from there. Something told Bucky that his squad had similar problems when they were growing up as well, because they were just as restless.

They were essentially grounded. The winged-soldiers were forbidden from flying into enemy airspace without their infantries as back up, made so by the terms of the mandate. Even though the order to pack up and move out hadn't been given yet, Bucky knew it was coming. Keith and Jacobs had been in contact with the Azzano front earlier that morning, and by their tones and body language that Bucky had picked up when he walked by, things weren't going well for their fellows just down the road. It was only a matter of planning, organizing, and time before they all left Le Coude and marched across the border to Azzano to continue the good fight for freedom. But right now, Bucky would have given anything for some excitement – and a sandwich.

Bucky and his squad had settled in a small area between the empty town and the rows upon rows of tents where the troops laid their beds. A series of benched tables sat in a fenced area outside a building that had probably been an Inn once upon a time, right at the north entrance of the town. It was sunny that day, something that was rare during this time of year, and fairly warm. Everybody was walking around in their sleeveless shirts, soaking up as much sunshine as they could. Scott was using a small washbowl and the reflection in the dark windows to shave his dark stubble. Johnny was sitting across the table from Bucky reading a book. It must have been invigorating too, because the Private hadn't even noticed the bee buzzing by his ear. Keenan and Anne had taken to sparing in the dirt patch just outside the fence, their boredom especially potent. At first, it was best two out of three. Now it was best thirteen out of twenty-five. They were a little too evenly matched. Nicole was off somewhere else, probably trying to find something to eat.

Clark was sitting at a different table a ways off from the others where she wouldn't be disturbed, black hair done up in the usual braid, adjusting the dials on her comms unit again with one side of a pair of headphones pressed to her ear. Bucky didn't know what she was trying to pick up, but the troubled look on her face said she couldn't find it. Bucky had already cleaned his fingernails with his knife and carved his initials into the table. Now he just sat back against the table with his arms crossed over his chest, letting the sun warm him. He was next in line to shave, since the makings of a beard were already prominent on his face. Not that he minded a little facial hair, he was just so damn bored that even shaving sounded like fun.

Other soldiers, in their passing from the tents to the town, would give Bucky and his squad the long-eye. He knew that most of these men had probably never seen winged-folk before, but did they have to be so obvious about it? However, they were the least of Bucky's worries. There were some that sneered at them as they walked by – a look of disdain that Bucky was all too familiar with. It was the look a man used when he didn't fully understand what he saw. Because of that, Bucky and his squad had to be careful. The mandate couldn't protect them from their own soldiers. Clark especially had to be cautious, as she was a particularly easy target for the small-minded people who were quick to voice their unwanted opinions. But that was for reasons other than her wings.

One such small-minded person was Private Lance Porter. Who was walking by at the moment.

"I still can't believe they let those savages in the army." He said to another man walking with him. He wasn't even trying to keep his voice low, talking loud enough for the whole squad to hear. Porter shook his head at Clark, the other man didn't say anything. "Even worse, they're encouraging them with this little Indian chat line they put up."

Clark looked up at Bucky, her eyebrows cocked in a way that said _can you believe this guy?_ Bucky just rolled his eyes in agreement and shrugged. Bucky would have liked to say that the Private's opinion wasn't a popular one, but he wasn't entirely sure that was true. As much as the war had united the people to a common cause that looked past heritage or skin color, there were still people who remained stuck in the past. This wasn't the first time Clark – or any member of the squad, in fact – had gotten crap for things that shouldn't have mattered. As it was, most of the time there wasn't much they could do besides let it roll off their shoulders, or pretend they didn't hear. Bucky could tell by the way the Private openly glared at Clark that this was _not_ going to be one of those times.

"I tell ya, they are just waiting for the chance to get back at us." Porter smirked, but his friend had a grim look on his face. "How do we know they aren't conversing with the Nazi's and giving away our position?"

"Don't have to." Clark finally spoke up, loud enough for Porter to drop the smirk on his face. The mere fact that she was speaking was a bad sign for the young Private. He just didn't know it. "You're doing a fine job of that all by yourself."

Porter stopped walking, his expression falling into annoyance. His friend hurried away, keeping his eyes down. "What'd you say to me?"

"I'm saying you speak so loudly they could probably hear you in the Pacific." Clark put down her headphones. "And you know what they say; the man that has the loudest voice also has the emptiest mind."

"You calling me stupid?" Porter's face twisted with anger. Clark, ever so fearless, cocked an eyebrow at the man.

"Should I repeat it in Navajo?" She crossed her arms. "Since simple English is too hard for you?"

Porter closed the distance between himself and Clark with three large stomps. Clark calmly jumped off the table and stood firm, black wings unruffled. She was a foot-and-a-half shorter than the man – well, she was at least a foot shorter than _everybody_ – but her stance and posture made her seem towering. Porter shoved a finger in her face.

"Listen here you little scalp collector, I will not-"

"I would advise you to choose your words carefully for once in your life." Clark's voice was steady. "You are speaking to a superior ranking officer, and I can have you detained for insubordination."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Porter leaned his face in closer, beginning to invade Clark's personal space. Bucky doubted Porter knew about the large hunting knife she always kept with her, but he and Clark both knew she wouldn't need it. Clark tilted her head back, exposing her throat to show she wasn't intimidated.

"Sergeant Barnes." Johnny had put down his book and was also watching them. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Should we do something?"

"Nah." Johnny spun to watch Keenan sit down next to Bucky, arms and face covered in dirt. He began to comb his fingers through his misplaced blue and black feathers, out of breath. "They've got this."

"What do you mean 'they'? Where's...?" Bucky and Keenan simultaneously lifted a finger and pointed. Johnny turned back to Clark and Porter, eyes widening.

"There a problem here, Private?" Anne placed her hands on her hips as she appeared next to the two, also covered in dirt and her blonde hair frazzled.

Porter backed away from Clark, scrutinizing the other girl as Anne took a step to partially stand in between him and Clark. She looked intimidating, the dirt on her face making her green eyes even more prominent, her tank top exposing her muscular arms and lean torso. Her wings were a little ruffled, whether from wrestling with Keenan or from emotion, Bucky couldn't tell. Probably both. Porter huffed a laugh at the two women.

"Oh I see." He gave them both a sardonic grin. "This is what happens when they let women into the army. You get the savages and the krauts working together."

Bucky had to forcefully keep himself from groaning. This guy just kept digging his grave deeper and deeper. Anne managed to keep a blank face as she scanned Porter up and down. She looked to Clark, eyes mischievous and winked at her. Clark grinned back.

"So tell me Private, what's it like to be the last caveman to walk the earth?" Anne asked Porter. The look of confusion that crossed his face was almost comical. "I assume you must be less evolved because it's obvious your tiny brain hasn't been able to keep up with the times."

"I wonder if he's discovered fire yet." Clark wondered out loud. Porter stood in silence, his temper bubbling. Bucky turned his head a little without moving his eyes from the scene to acknowledge Scott sitting down at the end of the table, face cleanly shaven. Scott's eyes were locked onto the scene as well, tan and gray feathers ruffled ever so slightly. Bucky knew just how much the Sergeant wished he could step in to help his teammates. He felt the same.

Anne stood fully in front of the Private, who was now fuming with anger. She had a confident smirk on her face, but a dangerous look in her eyes. "Vous pouvez être un soldat, mais il vaut mieux arrêter de faire semblant d'être un héros." She stepped closer to Porter, getting into his space, her wings unfurling a little. "Ce sont des gens comme vous qui me rendent heureux que je ne suis pas lié à la terre. Tu me rends malade."

French was not in Bucky's repertoire of languages. He also doubted Porter spoke any language besides English, so he didn't know what Anne had said either. But Clark understood her, and her mouth rounded into a small 'o' as Anne spit the words in his face, her eyebrows raising in surprise. Hodges and Porter glared at each other. It didn't take a genius to pick up the hostile intent behind her words, and Porter was no fool. Clark had her hand behind her back, her fingertips lightly curled around the hilt of the knife she kept sheathed there, waiting for something to happen. Porter's face turned red with rage, the taunting look that Anne returned enough to push him past the need for words.

"Sergeant Barnes, I can't just-" Johnny began to stand up, but Scott reached out and grabbed his wrist. Johnny turned to gaze at Scott in disbelief. Scott just continued to watch the scene with intensity. Bucky and Keenan were equally as rooted.

"Wait for it, Summers…" Bucky mumbled. Johnny turned back to the scene, where the two soldiers continued their face-off as the tension skyrocketed.

Porter grabbed a handful of the front Anne's shirt, and raised a fist. Anne's wings fully unfurled and she brought an arm up to block at the same time. Her other hand reached into her pocket, but before she could retrieve whatever was there, both soldiers were darkened by an overhead shadow. They all looked up as Nicole swooped just over their heads and dropped to the ground right next to them. She was wearing her army button-top with the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone, the bars of her rank clear on the shoulders. She was obviously _very _pissed off. She grabbed Porter's shoulder and roughly shoved him away from her sister, almost making the man fall over. He stumbled to his feet only to be shoved again, and this time he did fall. Nicole planted a foot between his sprawled legs – fairly close to the groin – and another on his chest. The Private was too dazed to try and get back up under her weight.

"Listen up Private and listen well." Her voice was like a looming thunderstorm. "You ever come near my sister or my squad again, I'll make sure the only way you get back home is through a condolence letter to your loved ones. Is that clear?"

Porter stared up at Nicole, his face touched with fear. He nodded his head dumbly. Nicole took her foot off his chest and stepped back as Porter scrambled to his feet. He glared at the three winged-women one last time before deciding that it wasn't worth the fight. He cast his angry gaze across the rest of the squad, where he met eyes with Bucky. Bucky smirked and waved at the Private, seeing the spark of familiarity in Porter's eyes. Porter shook his head and stomped away.

"Boy, that was a close one." Anne chuckled. Nicole glared at her sister. Anne barely had time to react as her older sister punched her square on the jaw. It was a hard hit; enough to send her stumbling, but not to hurt her too badly. Anne stood up straight, a hand to her cheek. "What was that for?"

"For being an idiot!" Nicole huffed. "Did you forget the mandate? We can get in serious trouble for fighting with our own soldiers."

"Of course I didn't forget, but he started it." Anne swung an arm in the direction Porter had stalked off. "I wasn't about to let one of our own be harassed by a pig like him."

"I had it under control." Clark spoke up. She didn't sound ungrateful, just stating a fact. Nicole lifted an eyebrow at her. "Just your usual bigoted asshole who thinks he knows everything. I could have handled it." Clark explained.

"I know you could have, Megan." Anne smiled at Clark. "I just didn't want you to have all the fun."

"You wouldn't have found it so entertaining after you had gotten detained." Nicole stepped back, beginning to cool down. "What were you reaching for, anyway?"

Anne reached into her pocket and pulled out a small device the sisters had built themselves. It was designed to stick to any surface and deliver an electrical charge potent enough to knock a grown man on his ass. "Just figured I'd teach him a lesson, maybe set his pants on fire…"

"You're crazy." Nicole couldn't help but crack a smile. "You know we haven't tested that thing yet. What if it blew him up?"

"Even better."

"I don't usually like people butting in on my problems, but it's good to know my back is covered." Clark smiled at the two sisters. "Thank you for standing up for me."

"Standing up _with_ you, Megan." Anne threw her arms around the other girls as they began walking back to the table with the others. "We're the only three women in the infantry; we've got to look out for each other."

"Yeah, and I could never be mad at you for that." Nicole ruffled Anne's hair. "But you do need to work on your French, Anne."

"Yeah I know. I didn't take four years of it in school like you."

Nicole snorted. "Can you imagine his reaction if you had started spouting German at him?"

"Yeah, which is exactly why I didn't."

Johnny turned back to Keenan and Bucky, black and white feathers still ruffled from the excitement. His gaze was distant, sort of unbelieving.

"I had forgotten about that part of the mandate, too." He breathed, then looked over to Scott. "So that's why you guys didn't do anything?"

"Section seven, paragraph two." Bucky said as he stood up to go shave. "'Any winged-soldier who acts aggressively toward their fellow servicemen, unless their actions are purely defensive, will be convicted unto a hearing for misconduct and tyranny that may result in federal holding and dishonorable discharge.' Then it goes on to list what qualifies as 'aggressive acts' – which is everything, including being provoked."

"Basically means the only people we fight are men wearing weird little x's on their uniforms." Keenan grumbled, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. "Trust me, if we could do something, then we would."

"I don't think the Private knows about that, though. Apparently they're more afraid of us hurting them than they are of them hurting us." Scott scoffed. He looked up as Anne sat down next to Keenan, Nicole took Bucky's previous spot, and Clark sat on top of the table at the other end across from Scott. He smiled at the girls. "And maybe they should be."

"No, it's more than that." Bucky said as he wetted his face. He could see all eyes turn to him in the reflection of the window. Bucky smeared cream on his face before he spoke again. "It's incentive."

Johnny quirked an eyebrow at that. "Incentive for what, sir?"

Bucky sighed as he lifted the razor to his cheek. "Isn't it obvious? To keep us on a leash. We set one foot out of line, and we're done. The higher ups aren't comfortable with having soldiers that they can't fully control."

"Why?" Johnny asked. "Don't they trust us?"

"You saw what just happened, right?" Keenan said.

"Well, yeah but that was because Clark is…you know…" Johnny stammered. It was obvious he wasn't trying to be offensive, but Clark still gave him a sour look. "What does having wings have to do with trust?"

"That's entirely it, Summers." Nicole said. She had a solemn look on her face. "Barnes is right. There's about thirty other sections of the mandate that forbid us from committing so-called acts of treason that are so loosely worded and open to interpretation that we can hardly do anything without risking the upset of our commanders. They want us to be good, mindless soldiers that follow orders and won't decide to betray our nation on the turn of a dime."

"I like it when you say I'm right." Bucky smirked as he shaved his upper lip. Nicole rolled her eyes.

"Do they really think we don't have the loyalty to serve our country?" Johnny spread his hands. "What makes us more volatile than the next soldier?"

"Those things on your back." Anne stated flatly. "We can fly, Private. As much as that makes us an 'invaluable resource', it also makes us dangerous. Just the fact that you have wings makes you – and I hate to use the term – a bigger _flight risk_."

"They want us to know that we are here to serve them." Keenan's eyes were steel. "And that if we ever mess that up, then they will make our lives much, much harder than it is by giving us a permanent black mark."

Johnny looked down at the table, his deep-brown eyes withdrawn. "When did winged-folk get such a bad name?" He wondered out loud.

Scott puckered his lips in thought. "I think around the same time they figured out we weren't angels."

"As it is, I think you guys handled that marvelously." Keenan said as he beamed at Anne and Clark. "That guy was an ass. I don't understand how he can judge a person without knowing them."

"Well he certainly seemed to recognize you, Barnes." Nicole eyed Bucky's reflection. "You know that guy?"

"We crossed paths a long time ago." Bucky tapped the razor against the bowl. "I'd already put him in his place once when he was beating up on my friend for… pretty much the same reason. I guess he just didn't learn."

"You mean Steve?" Anne grinned. "Your skinny friend who always gets into fights?"

Bucky smiled back at her through the window reflection, but also felt a pang of longing in his chest. He missed Steve very much. "The one and only."

"Speaking of always getting into fights," Scott looked to Anne and Keenan. "Who won?"

"I did." They both said. Keenan and Anne looked at each other, Anne quirking an eyebrow at the Private.

"It was ten to eight when I left." She stated.

"You mean when you _withdrew_, so I win by default." Keenan laughed as Anne punched him in the arm, then retaliated by giving her a shove with his arm that nearly knocked her off the bench.

"Great, glad we got that settled." Scott shook his head.

"When was the last time you heard from him?" Nicole asked Bucky. She knew just how much Bucky valued his friendship with Steve. There wasn't a story he hadn't told her about their childhood adventures in the conversations they had that lasted long into the night. When it was just the two of them and rank didn't matter. They told each other everything, so she also knew how much it disheartened him that Steve responded to his letters so rarely. Bucky scraped the razor up his chin.

"It's been a while."

Bucky had been overseas for a little over four months now, and in that time he had gotten plenty of letters from his family. All of his sisters had volunteered for different aspects of the war effort. Alana was still too young to be recruited into the WAC, but she made up for that by filling a spot as a riveter in the aviation industry. Kate had gotten her pilots license and became a WASP, which Bucky was extremely proud of. Becky was a Corporal now in the WAC. All of his sisters were doing whatever they could to support the war effort, and he appreciated that they all managed to stay in touch along with their busy lives.

But he had only gotten one letter from Steve. It was short, and had hinted at his friend joining some aspect of the support effort, but he couldn't give any details about what he was doing or who he was working with. Bucky thought that was odd, but Steve was an odd person to begin with. As it was, Bucky was glad that Steve had found something to do with his time, to keep his mind off of fighting and trying to get enlisted. Bucky just hoped that whatever he was doing, it was keeping him out of trouble. But he wished he knew whether or not Steve missed him just as much.

"Well, my brother sent me something interesting in the last mail call." Keenan said. He reached into one of the pockets of his army cargo pants and pulled out a rolled up paperbook. "They came out with this new superhero comic. It's pure propaganda, but it's actually pretty good."

Bucky turned toward him, his face cleanly shaven, as Keenan flattened the comic book onto the table. The cover was brightly colored, as all comic books were, and featured a man in red, white, and blue tight with a winged cowl and a star spangled shield. He was captured in an action pose, punching another man who couldn't have been none other than Adolf Hitler himself in the face. The patriotic theme was completed with the bold title of _Captain America_.

"Seems a little egotistical, doesn't it?" Scott commented.

"A little patriotism never hurt anybody." Bucky said as he picked up the book, leafing through a few pages as he remembered how he used to be into comics when he was younger. "Besides, the way things are going, we could use a little ego boost."

"It's not just comic books, either." Keenan said as Bucky handed the comic back to him. "My brother says they've got an entire campaign based around this guy. Movies, a traveling show, and everything."

"They'll do anything to bump up enlistments." Anne quirked her lips. Keenan opened the book and began reading, Anne leaning over to read along over his shoulder. Bucky sat down next to Johnny, across from Nicole. Her hair was still a little wild from flying and the short skirmish she interrupted, but Bucky thought it suited her. They smiled at each other – making Scott roll his eyes at Clark, who just grinned.

"So did you find anything to eat?" Scott asked Nicole. She made a dissatisfied face as she reached into her shirt pocket.

"This town has been sucked dry." She said. "However, there's a little orchard just west of here that hadn't been harvested yet. But they only have apples, which don't help us because they don't have carbs. I've already eaten three. Just wish there could have been peaches or pears."

Nicole pulled a large green apple out of her pocket and handed it to Scott. Wasting no time biting into it, Scott gave a moan of pleasure. Bucky took the apple from Scott, taking a big bite as well. The fruit was crisp and not too sour, just the way Bucky liked it. Bucky chewed in the delicious apple meat before handing it to Johnny. By the time the apple reached Clark, it was already half eaten.

"I guess I'll have to show you guys where the orchard is." Nicole laughed. Bucky grinned, seizing the opportunity to poke fun at the explosives expert.

"Sounds romantic." He winked. "An evening stroll through the orchard, maybe we'll find a nice tree to roost in for the night and have to keep each other warm."

"I have a fiancé." Johnny stammered. Bucky gave him a look. "Oh, you weren't talking about me. Sorry."

Everybody looked up as the base camp suddenly came to life, soldiers rushing out of Le Coude to deflate their tents. Bucky stood and shouted to one of the men passing by, asking what was going on. He had a feeling he already knew.

"They're calling all available infantries to Azzano." The man who had stopped shouted back. "We're moving out!"

Bucky turned back to his squad, all of them now standing. Bucky addressed all of them, switching to command-mode in the blink of an eye. "Return to this spot in ten minutes ready to go. Locked and loaded." Bucky looked to Nicole. "Guess I'll have to get a rain-check on that date."

"Is that what you thought it was going to be?" Nicole laughed as the squad dispersed. "In your dreams, Barnes."

"I'll see you there, then." Bucky turned away as well, just barely catching the small blush on Nicole's cheeks as she and Anne walked off to their small station to gather their gadgets and gizmos.

"Hey Barnes!" Anne shouted back. "You break my sister's heart, I break your wings!"

"How can you be so sure _she's_ not going to break _my_ heart?" Bucky replied. He was answered with a laugh from Anne and a "get a tent you two!" from Keenan. Bucky went to his tent and gathered his things. He was completely packed in seven minutes, and dressed in full uniform – boots, jacket, scarf, and helmet – as he made his way back to the Inn, where his squad was waiting for him. Colonel Keith was also there. Bucky saluted the Colonel as he approached. Keith saluted back, then addressed the whole squad with his hard gaze.

"I expect that I shouldn't have to remind you all that flight correspondence squads are not to engage with enemy troops unless supported by their associated infantries, is that correct?" Everybody responded with the normal "sir, yes sir!" before Keith continued. "And I also shouldn't have to remind you that if the infantry on the ground were to become overwhelmed and the odds turned against us, then you are to retreat and fly back to Allied territory, and live to fight another day. Is that correct?" Keith's voice softened after the squad gave the affirmative. "We need you all alive and well. So let's not have any more slip ups in the future." He gave a long stare to Clark and Anne. "That is all. Fall in, get ready to move out."

Everybody saluted as Keith walked away, heading for the front of the convoy of trucks that was forming. Anne made a face at Clark as the squad finished gathering their things.

"He calls that a slip up?" She frowned. "It wasn't our fault."

Clark returned her frown, the headset on her helmet giving off the faint buzz of static. "Would you rather have a slip up, or be arrested?"

The squad of winged-soldiers departed the Inn for the last time, making their way towards the back of the convoy that was forming. As they passed one truck full of soldiers, an angry face glared out at them. Anne stuck her tongue out at the jaded Private. She didn't see Clark flip her middle finger to him at the same time, which seemed to rile Porter. But one look at Bucky and Nicole was enough to keep him firmly planted in his seat. As they passed the last truck of the convoy, they assumed their normal flight formation; Bucky at the head, Nicole and Scott behind him with Anne and Clark behind them, and finally Keenan and Johnny taking up the rear. The trucks started up their motors one by one down the line until the air was filled with the roar of engines. As the trucks began to pull out, Bucky cast one last look over his shoulder at the little town.

Le Coude was a nice place, and Bucky thought he might like to return one day when all of this was over and people returned to their homes. He wanted to see what this place was like in a time of peace. He wanted to bring Steve here, to show him the simple village in the forest that Bucky had briefly called home. Well… if he managed to live that long. His eyes flickered to Nicole's face, her bright blue eyes staring dead ahead with determination. He smiled as he turned back to the convoy that had now pulled far enough ahead to give them enough room for takeoff. He had his reasons for staying alive, but he added one more to list right then and there. Not for me, Bucky reminded himself. But for the people who need me.

Bucky moved his goggles down to his face, slightly unfurling his wings and ruffling his feathers in preparation for flight. Bucky took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. Anxiety and excitement mixed together in his gut. Back to the fire, Bucky thought. Back to the fight. Bucky clasped his gloved hands, hearing his ring make a small sound.

"Keep your eyes peeled for anything! Stay alert, stay alive!" Bucky shouted to his squad. He heard Scott give a small laugh and a "hell yeah" behind him. Bucky smirked, giving his final order before he took off running.

"Let's Fly!"

* * *

Steve stood at the railing of the ginormous Trans-Atlantic ship, feeling the wind on his face and the three feathers flutter softly against his chest. It was such an amazing sensation, to be out at sea and not feel like he was going to pass out from nausea. When he had heard that the campaign had been boosted to an international tour, Steve was elated. Sure, it wasn't exactly how he pictured going overseas – far from it, actually – but he was one step closer to possibly joining the fight and making a difference in the war. Deep in his heart, though he knew the chances were slim, Steve also knew that he would be closer to meeting up with and fighting alongside Bucky. If Senator Brandt was as influential as he had led Steve to believe.

They had been at sea for about five days now, and would be anchoring into the Port of London any time. In fact, Steve could see a dark stripe on the horizon that had to be the west coast of Ireland, the land of his mother and father. As much as he wished they could make a stop there so Steve could pay homage to his heritage, he knew how important it was to continue the campaign to support the troops. Steve grinned as he briefly allowed himself to think that he would take a special detour to Galway on his way home, after the war was over. And if he just so happened to meet up with Bucky, then he would drag him along, too.

"Hey Steve!"

Steve spun to see Elyse, one of the dancers that he had finally managed to befriend while on the voyage, standing halfway out of a portal to the rooming quarters of the boat. She looked excited.

"The Captain – not you, the ship's captain – says we'll be docking in about five hours, so the girls and I were going to have ourselves a little party in the galley for making it all this way! Want to join us?"

Steve smiled at her, appreciative of the invitation. "I'm going to go pack my stuff first, but I might join you later."

"Okay, we'll save some sea cake for you!" She waved and disappeared back into the ship.

Steve chuckled, grimacing at the thought of the salty pastry that the crew had come to consider a delicacy for dessert. He turned back to the open ocean one last time, gripping the feathers on his necklace softly. He set his eyes once again on that dark strip, faded by distance and haze, but becoming clearer with every second. There was a war going on there, and Steve had about five hours before he was going to be thrown into the thick of it. He turned away and entered the bowels of the ship. Hold on Bucky. Steve thought to himself. I'm coming.

* * *

A/N: I'm guessing that you guys don't like my characters because the last chapter didn't get any reviews. Which I understand, I'm not a big fan of OC'S either. But like I said, they aren't permanent. So don't think of them as OC's think of them as plot helpers.

If you go back and look, I've added dates to all the chapters, so there's a rough idea of how old they are and what was going on in the world at the time. Makes it seem more concrete.

Things are about to get messy for Steve and Bucky, but the big reunion is coming up. Probably going to be the last chapter before I go back to college, so it'll be a long one. Thanks to everyone that has stuck around!

As always, read, review, and enjoy.


	10. Things We've Lost

November, 1943

* * *

_Come on, where are you?_

Steve raced through the darkened hallways of the factory, briefly glancing into every empty room he passed, his frustration and desperation growing. His shield bounced sharply against his back, the helmet on his head was just a little too big, and every fiber of his being felt like they were going to unravel at any second. But he charged on, having come too far to turn back now. The factory was huge though, and finding Bucky would take time that Steve didn't have, no matter how fast he ran. That is, if Bucky could even be found. Steve tried not to think about it.

Steve came upon an intersection, where he came to a stop. Looking down one hallway was more dark rooms and empty corridors. But turning to his right, he saw one room lit up by faint moonlight and the discolored light of electricity. It was the only sign of human activity Steve had seen in this part of the factory. Steve took a couple steps into the hallway, but froze as a man suddenly hurried out of the room, a briefcase and coat in his hands and a frightened look on his face. He was short and wore glasses, glancing down either direction of the hall. He stiffened as he briefly locked eyes with Steve, then dashed off in the other direction. Steve chased after him, and would have kept going if he hadn't heard the faint sound of a man's voice. Steve halted and peered into the lighted room – unsure of what he would find, but still hoping.

"Oh my god…"

Steve rushed over to one of the operating tables in the cluttered room, his gut wrenching with anguish as he came upon his friend, delirious and mumbling. The dirty, greenish light of the grimy lightbulbs made him look sickly and pale, bringing the purple bruise on his cheek into stark contrast. Bucky's eyes were half open, head swaying side to side as if he was drunk. Steve began tearing apart the bindings on Bucky's restraints, snapping them off like twigs. He called Bucky's name softly, sighing in relief as he watched the awareness and focus slowly returned to his face. Thank god, his mind seemed to be intact. Bucky settled his bleary-eyed gaze on Steve, a smile forming on his lips.

"Steve…You…" Bucky reached a hand out to him, each of his fingers wrapped in blood-stained, dirty bandages. Steve gently grabbed his friend's arm, helping him to sit up and then stand. Bucky moaned and grunted, the movements taking a lot of effort for him. It broke Steve's heart to see his friend so beaten and abused. Steve kept his hands firmly planted on Bucky's shoulders until his friend could stand on his own. Bucky in turn clung to Steve's arms, grimacing and gasping. Steve felt like he was about to burst as well, seeing Bucky again after so long bringing back all the worries and concerns that had plagued him for months. How many nights had he stayed up wondering if Bucky was okay, if he was still alive, or if he had been killed somewhere in the fields of Europe? He reached a gloved hand up to hold Bucky's face, taking in how solid his friend was as he remembered the immense grief he felt after Colonel Phillips told him Bucky was probably dead. No words could explain how happy Steve was that the Colonel had been wrong.

"I thought you were dead." Steve whispered.

Bucky's expression changed from happiness to confusion as he realized that Steve was now eye level with him, perhaps even taller, and supporting his weight without a problem. Bucky gave Steve's body a once over, trying to believe what he was seeing.

"I thought you were smaller."

Steve huffed a single laugh. But something was different about Bucky's appearance as well. Steve looked Bucky up and down, and that was when he saw what was covering the ground. Feathers littered the floor around the table, crunching softly under their feet with dried blood staining the shafts. Some of the feathers were an orangey-brown color, but most of them were brown and white striped – definitely from Bucky. Steve quickly circled behind Bucky, clapping a hand over his mouth in horror at what he saw.

Bucky's wings had been nearly plucked bare; all of his flight feathers were gone, his covert feathers were patchy, and even his edging was bare in some places, revealing the scabbed skin of the wing limb. Some of the open wounds of the plucked feathers hadn't completely coagulated yet, still glistening wetly. Steve knew now how much a plucked feather hurt, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of pain Bucky must have been in. And probably still was. The wings themselves appeared to be undamaged, however, folded so tightly against Bucky's back that they couldn't be seen from the front.

"Is it bad?" Bucky asked over his shoulder.

Steve looked around, grabbing a dingy leather jacket off the floor and wrapping it around Bucky's shoulders. It was fashioned with the slits and buttons on the back that was typical of clothing worn by winged-folk, making Steve assume that the jacket was his. It seemed a little small for him, though. Bucky kept his mutilated wings inside the jacket, covered and protected.

"You've had worse." Steve lied as Bucky moved his arms through the sleeves. "Come on, we've got to go."

Steve began to drag Bucky out of the room, but Bucky resisted a little, telling him to wait. Bucky turned away from Steve, toward another empty operating table that Steve hadn't taken notice of until now. Bucky took a couple uneasy steps toward it, then stumbled to the floor where more of the other kind of feathers were scattered. Steve stepped forward to help him up, but stopped when he saw Bucky sorting through the feathers. After a few moments, Bucky stood up on his own, holding his chosen, mottled feather. It was a darker feather, the tip edged with another color that looked blue in the light, but could have also been purple. Bucky had a look of deep sorrow on his face, quickly tucking the feather away in a pocket. He cleared his throat as he looked back up at Steve, who gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

With all of the POW's half-starved, sick, or injured, they didn't make it as far as Steve would have liked to that first night. The factory burned to the ground, and all the Hydra soldiers had abandoned their posts to retreat back to their own bases, so there was no immediate threat to run from. But Steve was still on edge, his encounter with Schmidt on the catwalk still at the forefront of his mind. Now there was a man who had been through the fires of Hell and basked in the flames. His confidence and intelligence unnerved Steve, but the fact that he had been the one to send a man to kill Dr. Erskine – the man that had changed his life – and condoned the torture of his best friend made Steve really despise him. When he had taken his face off, and revealed the tight, thin red skin beneath… Steve's first thought was that the man was some kind of demon. Schmidt's exterior mirrored his motivations, it seemed. But as it was, getting Bucky and the rest of the prisoners to safety took precedence over wanting to do more than punch Schmidt in the face – really hard.

The couple of tanks and trucks that the rescued prisoners had managed to commandeer were extremely helpful in transporting the soldiers that were too wounded or sick to walk. But there were many injured, and some still had to be carried by other soldiers – which also slowed their progress. Steve insisted that they at least traverse through the night, navigating by the stars to try and find their way back with the cover of night as protection. When the first light of the sun peeked over the tree tops, he finally decided they were far enough out of harm's way to rest for a few hours. Only a handful of people seemed to wonder why they were all taking orders from the guy wearing the weird spangley outfit and a brass shield on his arm. But none of them were about to question the man that had just single-handedly infiltrated and taken down an entire Hydra base.

Steve made his way through the line of resting prisoners, getting his bearing of who was who. There was more than just the captured 107th and other American troops; there were also British Brigades, Fighting Irish from Northern Ireland, and French Resistance. He talked with as many of them as he could, and all of them were grateful that he had helped them. But there were so many more that hadn't survived. Each soldier had lost someone in that god-forsaken place, ranging from acquaintances they had met during imprisonment to life-long friends from before the war. It made Steve feel unaccomplished, but he knew there was nothing he could have done.

Steve made his way toward the front of the camp, the effects of the night beginning to settle on him. A nap didn't sound so bad, now. As he reached the edge of the settlement, he saw Bucky lying in a patch of cool grass, his jacket removed and his scrawny wings wet with morning dew. The cold water probably made the empty feather pores feel better. His eyes were closed, but Steve could tell he was still awake.

"Lots of these men won't be able to return to the front." Steve said absently. "Some can barely speak."

"I guess I can't blame them." Bucky said without opening his eyes. "It was no picnic in there, let me tell ya."

Steve sat down next to Bucky, beginning to feel even more tired. He eyed the bandages and bruises, wondering what other, more _permanent_ damage might have been done to his best friend. Concern sat like a stone in his chest. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Bucky opened his eyes and sat up, the back of his shirt and hair wet. He sighed, clearly exhausted. "There's not a whole lot to tell, believe it or not. But I guess it does need to be told."

Steve sat in silence, waiting. Bucky crossed his legs and clasped his hands together, the bandages on his fingers fraying at the edges. He suddenly looked tense.

"The worst part was right before getting taken." Bucky stated.

"Bucky, you don't have to tell me now." The last thing he wanted was for Bucky to relive his trauma so soon after getting his freedom back.

"No, no." Bucky swallowed. "I have to talk about it. I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen. That would be an insult to their memories."

Steve nodded, waiting with pity in his heart as Bucky collected his thoughts. His winged-friend took a deep breath and turned his head toward the brightening sky. He swallowed again. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but his face remained stone.

"It was like my worst nightmare come to life."

* * *

It was as if they had passed through a veil, or a gateway. The battle came abruptly, the setting sun of the Italian foothills casting long shadows that were broken by muzzle flash and blue electricity. They had heard the battle long before they saw it; the sharp report of bullets and frantic shouting reaching the squad in the air a few moments before the first soldiers in the front truck picked it up over the engine. But as soon as the convoy below and the squad in the air rounded the next hill, chaos erupted.

There must have been about three other infantries that had come in for back up, raising their numbers to a few hundred soldiers. One of the other infantries also had a flight correspondence team, but theirs was only five members in total. The other infantries were already engaged, soldiers falling into lines and trucks setting up to unload a steady stream of supplies on one side of the bare field just outside Azzano. The few tanks that traveled with the infantries were locked and loaded, creating a perimeter of explosive power. It would only take about fifteen minutes before the 107th joined them. But it didn't seem like the enemy was going to let them have that time.

The Nazi's were laying down heavy fire from both bullets and energy blasts from across the field. They outnumbered the Allied forces, but not by much. However, they did have heavier artillery; canons and anti-aircraft projectiles that spelled trouble for the flight correspondence teams. Some of the trees that ringed the field were already on fire, and there were smoking craters dotted throughout the battlefield. But what made Bucky's heart drop into his stomach were the several black clad winged-soldiers flying above the Nazi troops, delivering their own explosive packages into the lines of the Allies.

Bucky lead his squad into a steep dive, coming closer to the trucks of the convoy that was quickly coming upon the battlefield. Colonel Keith was leaning out of his window waving his arm at them. One hand firmly held his hat on his head while the other pointed toward a small station set up within the Allied ranks. Bucky nodded with a quick salute before leading his squad up over the trees again and toward the station. As they approached the makeshift command center, the few soldiers that stood guard jumped to attention. They trained their guns on Bucky and his squad as they landed. Bucky moved his goggles to his head.

"Master Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th infantry's flight correspondence." He said quickly. "Who's in charge here?"

"I am." A rough voice rose over the cacophony of the battle. An older man looked up from a chart within the station and came towards the squad, the other soldiers lowering their weapons. He had a hard face, worn by the years, but seemed friendly enough. "Colonel Phillips. How long till the rest of the infantry gets here?"

"I'd say no more than ten minutes now, sir." Bucky stated. "We're here to help however we can in the meantime."

"Of course you are." Colonel Phillips barked. "Who's your comm specialist?"

"Right here, sir." Clark spoke up as she took a step forward.

The Colonel hardly looked at her. "Switch to frequency seven, that's how we'll stay in contact." He addressed the rest of the squad "You can use our packages until yours get here. We'll notify our squad that you're here."

Colonel Phillips pointed toward three open-backed trucks with large burlap bundles in their beds. One member of the other squad had just flown away with one of the packages in their arms.

"Yes sir!"

Bucky and his squad quickly headed over to the trucks. The other squad had already used one trucks worth of the explosives, and were halfway through the second. Bucky looked into the truck bed and the impact-activated explosives inside.

"We need to split up and spread out, try not to be where the other squad is. Pair up – Clark, you're with me. Look out for each other." Bucky spoke loud enough for the squad behind him to hear. "Try not to get in the way of anything coming at you really fast."

"What about the enemy's winged-soldiers?" Keenan asked as Anne came to stand next to him, Nicole with Scott and Johnny.

Bucky sighed. Of course they had all been through aerial combat training, but it rarely came to use, as rival flight teams hardly ever crossed paths. Chances were they were all a little rusty. But it was the anti-aircraft weapons Bucky was more worried about. Either one could spell their doom.

"If they engage us," Bucky seethed, angry at their situation. "You have your rifles. If they get too close… break their wings."

Bucky climbed into the truck and grabbed a package, then stepped up to the roof of the truck and jumped into take off, having to pump his wings a little harder to get airborne. The Corporal was only a second behind him. Bucky steeled himself as he angled himself toward the darkening battlefield, switching the toggle on the package that would arm the explosives inside. They had to be extremely careful with the bombs – one little bump, or one soldier firing wildly into the sky, and it would be over. Bucky hated these things – there was just too much that could go wrong. And yet, it was still safer than being on the ground with nothing but his rifle.

Flying over a war was a frantic, overwhelming, and terrifying experience. Carnage and chaos swirled into a fiery and bloody concoction beneath Bucky as he rose higher and higher, his squad separating to cover more ground. Bucky flew until he felt like his package would land in the thick of Nazi soldiers well behind their own lines, so none of the Allied soldiers would be harmed. He gauged for air resistance and momentum, knowing the package would continue traveling forward even after he dropped it, meaning that timing was everything. Bucky released the package and quickly circled back to the trucks, taking a quick glance back to see the explosion erupt a little short of his intended target, but still enough to be devastating. The number of men shouting was loud enough to reach Bucky's ears, one-hundred feet in the air.

Bucky and Clark went back to the truck three times. On the second return, they bumped into a member of the other flight squad. Corporal Shane Lockehart, with feathers that were layered with white, grey, and black, who barely exchanged more than a few sentences with Bucky.

"We were told you guys were here." He said as he closed the tailgate to the empty second truck. "Are you're guys here yet?"

"No doubt they are, they should be finished preparing our packages by now." Bucky said as he and Clark helped the Corporal ready the packages of the third and final truck. "As soon as these are done, you guys are welcome to use ours."

"I'll let the others know. Good luck out there."

Bucky's arms and wings were getting tired as he hefted the third package into the deepening night, once again ascending into the air. Flying back out over the battlefield, Bucky could tell that the little extra _oomph_ that the infantry provided greatly helped to speed along the decimation of the Nazi forces. Their ranks looked thinner already.

"Serge!"

Bucky looked over his shoulder at Clark. She didn't say anything more than point off to their right. Bucky snapped his head around, scanning the dark sky. If it hadn't been for the fire in the trees, he might not have been able to see a thing. A flurry of wings and small reports of a gun came from the fight that had broken out in the air, three Nazi soldiers against Scott, Johnny, and Nicole. He saw one of the enemy soldiers grab Nicole's left wing. Bucky dropped his package, not caring where it fell, as he turned and propelled himself toward the skirmish. Without slowing down one bit, Bucky furled his wings and slammed into the soldier, driving his shoulder into the man's chest. He felt a bone crunch, and the soldier gave a pained moan. He grasped at his collarbone, wings curling in pain. He screamed as he fell to earth.

Clark had been right behind him, drawing her knife as she dropped down from above on to the enemy that Johnny was barely holding off. She lassoed an arm around his neck, quickly stabbed him twice from behind, then let go as he too fell. Scott's opponent disengaged and retreated, flying back to her own troops as she strung curses at them in German. Bucky quickly surveyed his members, feeling a wave of relief seeing they were unharmed. They quickly fell into formation together, flying back to their own side of the battlefield.

"Thanks for the assist, Barnes." Nicole shouted over the wind. Bucky shot her a thumbs up.

"Does anybody else hear that?" Scott managed to yell audibly. He was swiveling his head side to side, listening to something just out of range.

Bucky steadied his wings and listened. At first, there was nothing but the usual chatter of guns and explosions and men yelling. But then he heard it. Like industrial mechanism were firing up, a building hum was filling the air. It was coming from the Northwest. Bucky peered into the thinning trees of the foothills leading into Austria. The fireglow hadn't helped his night vision. But, eventually… unfortunately… his eyes adjusted.

Like the 'nachtschlag' they had intercepted and sabotaged, only bigger. _Much_ bigger. They poured out of the trees like a glowing blue flood, the soldiers in the mechanized suits moving faster than Bucky thought they were capable of. They wasted no time joining the fray, the energy blasts from their guns dispatching handfuls of soldiers within seconds. Around the crest of the hill, along with multitudes of other soldiers, the source of the humming rolled into view as three tanks. Bucky had never seen tanks like these; bigger than American-made Shermans, or German-made Tigers. The inside of the long, large gun barrel mounted on top glowed blue with the same destructive energy. The nachtschlag didn't stop coming, replacing the soldiers the Nazi's had lost and then some. In the blink of an eye, the war had turned so horribly wrong.

"Shit." Scott spat as he crossed himself.

"We have to get out of here." Nicole shouted.

She didn't have to say it twice. They turned toward their own settlement of trucks and troops, the 107th supply trucks providing a barricade from the battle. They landed within their own soldiers, what few of them seemed to remain. Bucky was surprised to see the other flight squad there as well. Corporal Lockehart, face covered in smudge, ran to meet them.

"What the hell is that?" Bucky shouted as he threw an arm toward the growing force of enemy soldiers. "Where the hell did that come from? Why weren't we warned?"

"We don't know." Lockehart gasped.

"The hell you mean you don't know?!" Bucky barked.

"They came out of nowhere. Nothing on the radars or radios. We… we didn't have a warning either." Lockehart's voice shook. It was then that Bucky realized that their squad was one member short. His throat tightened. Lockehart continued. "We're pulling out while we still can. The retreat order hasn't been given yet, but they haven't seen what we've seen."

"You do that and you could be arrested for abandonment. That's treason." Scott stated.

"At this point, we'll take our chances." Lockehart shook his head with regret.

"Did you report it in?" Bucky asked.

"Of course I did. We take off in two minutes. If you guys were smart, you would join us."

"No!" Nicole spoke up, her face both terrified and angry. "Two of our own are still out there!"

"This is unsafe airspace. I hate to say it, but if your friends didn't see _that_ and not immediately touch base, they're probably dead." Lockehart stared hard at Nicole, not out of malice but with reasoning. Nicole growled.

"That's my sister out there, you coward." Her orangish-brown and blue feathers puffed up. "I'm not going to abandon her."

"We're not." Bucky cut in. He turned to his squad. "I'll fly back out to look for them. I'm their superior after all." Bucky took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Any of you are welcome to help, but I encourage you to go with them. I need to know who is flying with me."

Nicole stepped forward right away. Scott slung his rifle to his front and unclicked the safety, giving Bucky a confident nod. Clark didn't move, but Bucky could see her resolve in her eyes. Johnny, looking more rattled and scared than any of them, also seemed to overcome himself as he swallowed his fear and stood up a little straighter. Bucky turned back to Lockehart, who looked disheartened.

"Live to fight another day." Bucky told him.

"God speed." Lockehart returned.

When they returned to the air, the incoming onslaught of enemy soldiers was looming, some soldiers were even beginning to turn and run. Blue flashes lit up the night, accompanied with horrible electric sounds. The enemy was pushing more and more, it was only a matter of time before the Allies broke and were overwhelmed. Bucky clutched his gun tighter, eyes quickly darting across the sky as they circled the battlefield. _Come on_, Bucky thought. _Where the hell are you guys_? The night was at full strength by now, and a chill had set into the atmosphere.

"There!" It was Johnny who had shouted. "Ten o'clock!"

Bucky spotted two dark dashes against the skyscape, followed by six more. Keenan and Anne were frantically flying in circles as the enemy soldiers continuously cut them off from any escape, closing in on them like wolves to prey. Bucky and the others immediately reacted, darting toward them with wings pumping. Bucky stiffened his wings into a glide, bringing his gun up to fire. His spray of bullets was echoed with Scott's and Nicole's. Two of the enemy soldiers jerked and fell. Keenan and Anne jumped as well, but as soon as they saw the rest of the squad they made straight for them – the enemy soldiers flying close behind. Bucky steepened his angle in the last few seconds as the distance between him and the black soldiers decreased. Anne and Keenan flew underneath him and circled back to take their places in the formation. Bucky thrust his wings back and righted himself, bringing his knee up to his chest. His momentum carrying him forward, Bucky crashed into one of the enemy soldiers, his knee going straight into their nose. They fell, and at this height, if they weren't dead, they would be when they hit the ground.

He flapped his wings to turn, bringing his gun up again to fire at the remaining soldiers. He jerked and dropped as he felt the _whoosh_ of bullets from their return fire. But it was a retreating fire, only three of them against his seven. With the immediate threat over, they fell back into formation. Relief tingled in Bucky's chest, glad that all of his team was alive to make it out of this living hell. The sound of a siren rang through the air. The retreat had been called. As Bucky lead them straight back toward the far side of the battlefield, Allied trucks were driving away and soldiers were retreating to wherever they could. Enemy soldiers gave chase, gunning down fleeing men in droves. Bucky felt a pang of remorse, wishing that they could get away on foot as easily as he could in-

A bright blue burst of light engulfed Bucky and his squad. Bucky struggled to steady himself as his wings curled reflexively. He looked down and behind him, where one of the large tanks had its gun pointed skyward, tracking them. The blue glow from its barrel grew brighter and brighter, charging with energy. Bucky's heart jumped.

"Everybody scatter!"

They only had moments to react before the second blast exploded within the formation. The shockwave sent Bucky tumbling through the air, his organs vibrating and ears ringing. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings and right himself. As soon as he was headed in the right direction, he cast one glance over his shoulder to see his squad falling back into formation. Looking ahead, he held up his pointer finger and thumb, signaling a sound-off. One by one, each member of the squad tapped their rings, and Bucky counted the number of notes in the air. _Three… Four… Five…_

Only five. There should have been six. Immediately, Bucky flew higher so he could look down on his squad. His gut wrenched as he saw that the last spot in the formation was empty. The spot usually taken by Johnny. Bucky tried to look around, hoping that Private John Summers had simply gotten lost. But the air was empty of everything expect his squad and enemy fire. Bucky cursed, tears beginning to fog his vision. He hated losing soldiers to those god-forsaken energy powered weapons. Absolutely hated it. They left nothing; no body, no dog tags, no feathers. Nothing to send back to loved ones. Nothing left for the woman who loved him.

But Bucky didn't have long to morn.

He heard a grunt to his left as an enemy winged-soldier dropped down on top of Clark. The other two ambushed Nicole and Scott, who had turned in time to see them coming and prepared themselves. Anne wasted no time jumping to assist her sister, while Keenan flew to Scott's aid. Bucky dropped to help Clark, recognizing the soldier attacking her as the woman they had encountered the first time. She had a large knife in her hand, raised above her as she and Clark fell through the air together. Bucky dove after them, unable to get a lock on her with his gun. As hard as Clark tried, she couldn't turn around to face her attacker or throw her off. Bucky couldn't fall fast enough to catch up with their combined weight, even when driving himself with his wings. He watched in horror as the woman wrapped her arm around Clark's neck, the knife clutched in her hand.

"No!" Bucky cried. With one swift motion of her arm, the woman slung the knife out to the side, a spray of blood flying off of it.

Clark's body went still, wings and limbs ceasing in their struggle. The woman unfurled her wings and let Clark's body fall, her black braid streaming behind her. She fell into the trees, swallowed into the darkness without a sound. The woman turned away, flying back up with a satisfied look on her face. But she didn't get far. As soon as she looked up, she stared directly into the muzzle of Bucky's rifle. Bucky didn't give her a chance to escape this time. Bucky closed his eyes as he lowered his smoking gun and glided over the woods, sorrow for the loss of Clark almost overwhelming him to drop to the ground as well. He took a deep shuddering breath, opened his eyes, and gave a small salute in the direction that Corporal Megan Clark had fallen. Then he turned and flew up to the rest of his squad, still fighting their own enemies.

Scott and Keenan had overcome their opponent with ease, Scott restraining their limbs while Keenan bashed their head with the butt of his rifle. Anne and Nicole, however, were having a much harder time with the same task, this soldier being larger than any soldier Bucky had seen before. It was amazing his wings were able to lift him. He fended off the two sisters as they struggled to shoot or stab him. He had Anne's wing in one hand while he held off Nicole with his gun in his other hand. Before Bucky, Scott, or Keenan could back them up, Anne reached into her pocket. Twisting her body in a way that almost tore her wing out of its socket, she slammed her palm into the other soldier's side, the small device buzzing. He stiffened and jerked, smoke curling off his form as the electric currents fried his systems. His grasp on Anne's wing loosened and he began to fall. As he fell, he stiffly trained his gun at Anne above, still recovering from being restrained and not paying attention. As he fired his last bullet, Anne turned around. Faster than the bullet, but seeming to move in slow motion as Bucky watched, Nicole darted in front of her sister as Anne realized what was happening. Bucky felt his heart shudder as a spray of blood erupted from her uniform.

Nicole grunted as the bullet passed through her, into her chest and out through her right shoulder blade. She dropped like a stone, her useless wing acting as a deadweight while her other wing flapped lazily. Everybody watched in terror, too shocked to react as she twisted and looked back up at the squad, eyes wide with fear. She reached a hand up to her sister. Anne screamed as she dove after her, her anguish filling the air.

"Anne, don't!" Keenan shouted out to her, but she wasn't listening. He dove after her, whether to help her catch Nicole or to stop her from possibly falling to her death was unclear.

Scott and Bucky only shared one look with each other before they too dove after them. The fire in the trees had spread, and Nicole was unfortunately falling straight for the burning branches. Anne had reached Nicole and was struggling to slow their descent, their hands gripping each other. Nicole yelled in pain as she was yanked upward, but it wasn't enough to stop them from a deadly crash. Keenan came upon them, gripping Nicole's arms as well and pumping his blue and black wings against gravity. Keenan looked down at the inferno that was quickly coming upon them, and gritted his teeth as he made an effort to at least divert them from the burning woods. Bucky and Scott caught up with them a moment too late, Bucky dropping under Nicole to grasp her under her armpits while Scott grabbed an arm as well. Together, they worked their fall toward a darker part of the woods.

They crashed through the trees, their speed still too great for a safe landing. Bucky growled as his left leg hit a tree, bouncing off with a hard snap. He heard the others grunting and struggling as well, wings constricted by the branches. They hit the ground hard, Nicole landing fully on top of Bucky while the others were scattered around. For a few seconds, they laid gasping in the darkness, the only light coming from the fire in the trees and a faint blue light from enemy soldiers scouting the woods for prisoners to take. Nicole's breathing was raspy, blood in her lungs and also on her lips.

"I think… it missed my heart." She said softly.

"Don't speak." Bucky carefully leaned her forward so he could get up, removing his goggles and helmet. He pressed one hand to the front of the bullet hole and one to the back, both gushing alarming amounts of blood. It had already left a stain on the front of his jacket. With their medic gone, her chances of survival were not looking good…

Anne rushed over and grabbed her sister's hand, helmet and goggles discarded with tears in her eyes. Scott and Keenan stood guard with guns trained, headgear also removed, their wide eyes filled with panic as they scanned the dark woods. The faint sound of German troops shouting to each other in the distance was steadily growing louder.

"How soon can we move?" Scott whispered. "Can we fly?"

"I doubt it." Bucky whispered back, testing his leg. He hissed as a jolt of pain shot into his hip and knee, but nothing seemed broken. "Anne, Keenan, you guys have to carry her. We need to move quickly."

Anne and Keenan both moved to lift Nicole under her arms while Bucky hastily made a makeshift bandage out of the small blanket in his backpack. Nicole grunted as he tightened the blanket around her chest. She was looking pale, eyes not completely focused.

"Just leave me, Barnes." She mumbled. "You need to get out of here."

"I need you to focus on staying awake, Sergeant." Bucky cupped her cheek in one hand, drawing her gaze to his. He glanced at Anne once, seeing the desperation and sorrow on her face. "That's an order."

She nodded dumbly, swallowing. "Yes, sir."

"Let's move!"

The five of them stumbled through the dark woods, moving much slower than Bucky would have liked. Bucky had to limp on his right leg while he trained his gun ahead of him, the shock to his left leg almost enough give out under him. His heart raced in his ears, barely loud enough to drown out the advance of the German soldiers closing in on them with each passing second. The dead weight of Nicole between Anne and Keenan caused them to lag behind him and Scott, even though they tried their best to keep up. Aimlessly, they crept through the dark trees, the fireglow getting dimmer and dimmer with each step and casting them into deeper darkness. Bucky glanced back over his shoulder. His heart jumped as the blue glow of the enemy's weapons and flashlights darted through the trees after them. They were almost right on top of them.

Scott suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to level his gun at the advancing troops.

"Keep going. I can buy you guys some time." His face and voice were stone. Bucky immediately grabbed his shoulder.

"No way. I'm not losing anymore soldiers tonight." Bucky growled, anger and desperation making his voice crack.

"There's no other way, and you know it." Scott didn't take his eyes off the enemy soldiers coming closer.

"I am giving you a direct order, Sergeant!" Bucky tightened his grip as Anne, Keenan, and Nicole stumbled past them.

Scott didn't move from his position. He turned his head and stared Bucky dead in the eye. There was nothing that Bucky could say or do that would convince him to abandon his suicide mission. That was evident in his gaze, and it broke Bucky's heart all over again. It hurt even more to know that Scott was right. He let go of Scott's shoulder. Scott grinned and nodded at him, yanking off his dog tags and rosary and handing them to Bucky.

"It's been an honor, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky nodded, unable to speak his own sentiments for fear of breaking down as he took the items. All he could do was give a quick salute to his fellow Sergeant. Bucky darted after Keenan, Anne, and Nicole. Shortly after, the sound of Sergeant Scott Garcia's gun echoed through the trees. For a couple minutes, the sound of the one-man firefight behind them gave Bucky hope, a glimmer of a chance of escape. But then the gunshots ceased, and the silence that enveloped what remained of the squad was the loudest silence Bucky had ever heard.

Scott's sacrifice was not in vain. He did manage to hold off the contingency of enemy soldiers, buying Bucky and the rest an extra ten minutes head start. But the ten minutes was quickly decreasing. They were growing tired, with no end to the dark forest in sight. Anne and Keenan huffed along, Nicole gritting her teeth with each jarring step. Finally, Nicole let loose a strained scream and begged for them to stop. Anne and Keenan lead her toward a tree, leaning her against the trunk. Keenan positioned his gun to stand guard as Anne and Bucky dropped down to examine her. She had bled through the blanket. Bucky's pulse was in his throat. He knew that she was… he knew… and what was worse was that Anne seemed to know as well, but she shook her head.

"We gotta keep going." Anne was gripping Nicole's hand tightly, trying to be calm. "We need to go home."

Nicole stared directly at her sister, returning the tight grip. "You know what this is. You know how this ends. Anne, you need to be strong."

"I can't!" Anne finally broke. "I can't do this without you!"

"Yes you can, do you know why?" Nicole was trying very hard not to join her sister in her weeping. "Because I'll always be with you, okay?" Nicole coughed, a stream of blood dribbling down her chin. "Anne… I need to know that you understand. I'll always be there."

Anne couldn't speak, just shook her head as she clung to her sister. Nicole's eyes brimmed with tears, but still she smiled.

"Anne… Anne here, I have one… picked out." Nicole struggled to extend her good wing. "My… my lucky one. You know which one, right?... Take it. Take it home." Nicole pointed to a feather, split down the middle with brown and blue. "Take it home for me. Tell mom and dad… I love them."

Anne was shaking so badly, her gear was rattling. She just stared at the feather with wet eyes. Nicole looked to Bucky, her expression pleading. Bucky gulped and reached a hand out to her wing. As softly as he could, he yanked the feather out. Nicole didn't react. She was fading fast.

"Barnes, you… need to look after her." Nicole mumbled, eyes starting to close. "And you need to know…James… that… that I always…"

"I know." Bucky croaked, tears brimming. He gently cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Me too."

Sergeant Nicole Hodges looked up at him, gave him a soft smile and a wink. Then the smile fell from her face, and her body relaxed. She was gone.

Anne cried out. She sputtered her sister's name in tandem with her sobs. Her plea's gradually developed into screams. Keenan dropped his gun and put a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away from her sister's body and turning her into his chest with his arms around her. Anne buried herself in his jacket, her sobs shaking her whole body. Keenan stared blankly ahead, glancing at Nicole's body a few times. Bucky sat back and stared at the feather in his hand. A tear fell from his eye, not anywhere close to showing the anguish he was feeling inside. There was no escaping now. The enemy soldiers were only seconds away from finding them. Before it was too late, Bucky leaned forward and planted a soft kiss to Nicole's forehead.

As the soldiers came upon them, Keenan growled and spun to stand between them and Anne. He unfurled his wings and lowered himself into a fighting stance. Bucky quickly ordered Keenan to stand down, knowing the Private would get himself killed if he did anything rash. But he wasn't listening. Before Keenan could bring his gun to level, his right leg was torn with a bullet, along with his right hip. Keenan cried out as he fell to the ground, clutching his wounds. Anne dropped down next to him, calling his name as she did. But she froze as the troops that surrounded them started yelling in German. Bucky slowly moved so he was on his knees, tucking Nicole's feather into his jacket before putting his hands in the air. Anne copied him. One soldiers was talking to them, his voice strict. Bucky glanced at Anne, her eyes wide and scared.

"Anne, what are they saying?" Bucky whispered. She didn't react, eyes far away. Bucky frowned. He understood her sorrow, but this was the worst time to be in shock. "Corporal Hodges!"

Anne jumped at his voice, but it seemed to work in shaking her out of her withdrawal. "They said that we are now prisoners of war." Her voice was low and monotone. "They are going to restrain us, and if we put up a fight, they will kill us."

Bucky swallowed. Three soldiers stepped forward, taking their weapons and binding their hands and wings together. Keenan, who was still overcome with pain, was not restrained, which concerned Bucky. Anne and Bucky were forced to their feet and roughly shoved back the way they had come. One soldier turned to another.

"Was über die verletzen ein?" He said. The other soldier looked to Keenan, his face disapproving.

"Töte Ihn."

Anne shot her eyes back to Keenan, eyes wide with renewed sadness. He gazed back at her, grief and regret in his features. He mouthed something at Anne that Bucky didn't quite catch, but he had a pretty good idea what it was. Anne tried to smile, nodding back at him. Bucky witnessed a soldier point his gun at Private Keenan Mooney's head before he was roughly shoved forward. A moment later, a single gunshot broke the silence of the dark woods.

Anne cried silently as they stumbled along. Bucky tried to limp as fast as the soldiers wanted him to, mind racing with fear and anxiety. They returned to the battlefield, now silent and scattered with bodies and fire. A large truck was waiting for them, loaded with other prisoners. They were roughly shoved into the back of the truck, sitting on the floor next to each other. Other prisoners, some of them from the 107th, looked surprised to see them. The tailgate was closed with two soldiers riding in the back, their guns pointed at the prisoners. After a few minutes, the truck started up and began to pull away. Anne closed her eyes tight and tried not to make a sound as she cried. Bucky felt for her, also on the verge of uncontrollable tears. But he remained stone-faced, for the both of them. He did, however, allow Anne to lean on his shoulder. The motion seemed to comfort her, if ever so slightly.

Bucky looked up, peering out the sliver of sight between the tarp flaps on the back of the truck. He swallowed past his dry throat, an ice-cold trickle of terror seeping down his spine as the truck drove them through the night and straight into hell.

* * *

Barely two weeks into their imprisonment, Bucky and Anne were deemed too weak to work. Bucky had caught pneumonia, the sickness sapping his strength with each passing day. He sliced his fingers open countless time on the large sheets of metal that they were forced to work with because of it. Anne had simply lost the will to live, hardly eating or sleeping. Bucky had tried to give her Nicole's feather. She held it for a few minutes, then looked back up at him and gave it back. Bucky took it back hesitantly, wondering why Anne looked so happy all of a sudden.

At first, there were four winged prisoners. The other two – a man and a woman – were French, and kept separate from Bucky and Anne. At some point, they were taken away in the night and never seen again.

When they came for Bucky and Anne, he could barely stand. They dragged them through the factory and slammed them down on the metal tables. A small man with glasses and a lab coat stood between the two of them.

"I do hope you two will be more durable than your counterparts." He sighed, looking through papers on a clipboard. "Any struggle or resistance will be met with punishment. Try not to disappoint me."

The pain and torture that followed was worse than anything Bucky could have imagined. If he so much as looked at the man wrong – he said his name was Dr. Zola – he would have several of his feathers plucked. Anne hardly reacted to anything, but they still plucked her feathers. More out of pleasure than punishment.

At some time in the bleary haze that Bucky had come to know as sleep, he opened his eyes to see Dr. Zola and a taller, more menacing man in a neat soldier's uniform standing over Anne's table. She seemed lifeless, hardly breathing. The two men were talking softly. Bucky could barely make out what they were saying.

"Sie lebt… aber Sie ist sehr schwach." Dr. Zola stated. "Ich glaube nicht, dass Sie es durch einen anderen Prozess machen."

"Dann Sie ist nutzlos zu uns." The other man said. "Entsorgen Sie Ihr."

Dr. Zola looked up, his eyes had a trace of annoyance as he nodded. "Ja, Herr Schmidt."

The other man didn't speak further. He turned away from Anne, glancing over at Bucky. Bucky and Schmidt met eyes, and he grinned wickedly.

The next time Bucky opened his eyes, the table were Corporal Anne Hodges had laid was empty, the only sign she had ever been there were her feathers on the floor. Bucky was alone. For the first time in a long time, he was well and truly alone. The sensation finally broke him, and he wept openly to the empty room. His tears streamed down the side of his face and his cries fell on the hollow walls as he thrashed against his restraints. His sobs died away after a while, his grief replaced with an aching numbness. Bucky felt empty, nothing left in him to offer solace from the never ending nightmare.

Dr. Zola entered the room and held up a syringe filled with a nasty looking green fluid. He gazed down at Bucky, emotionless like always. Bucky stared straight ahead, unseeing. When he felt the needle pierce his arm, he started to mumble. His name, then his rank, then his serial number, over and over and over again. He felt the drug course through his veins, burning as it went. Even when his muscles began to seize, he still mumbled out his identity through gritted teeth. It was all he had left. Then it became all he knew.

Until one day he opened his eyes to see his best friend standing over him.

* * *

Bucky finished his tale with a strained voice. He held the two feathers, dog tags, and rosary in front of him, staring at them with intensity. Steve sat silently next to him, his own heart aching for Bucky's loss. He couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. Bucky took a deep breath through his nose, looking up at Steve.

"It just...happened so fast. I'll admit, I'll probably never fully recover from all that." Bucky said. "But… I think I'll manage."

"So, what are you going to do with them?" Steve nodded at the feathers.

"I guess I'll get them preserved. Keep them with me until this is all over. Then take them home, give them to their parents. I'm sure they would appreciate that." Bucky's voice got softer as he spoke.

Steve looked down, pointing at the brown and blue feather. "Was there anything there?"

Bucky held up the feather, grinning at the memory of the person it belonged to. "I'd like to think there was."

"Would I have liked her?" Steve asked lightly. Bucky chuckled.

"Yeah, you would have like her. But her sister." He held up the orange and purple feather. "You two would have been like peas in a pod."

Steve smiled sadly at Bucky. But he couldn't take his eyes off of Bucky's wings, awkward and stick-like. It was going to take months for all those feathers to grow back. Some of them might not even grow back at all. Steve's chest tensed. If only he had been quicker, gotten there sooner. Just maybe, he could have prevented… something… anything.

"Bucky, I'm so sorry." Steve's voice tightened.

Steve switched his gaze, staring at the grass and avoiding his friends gaze. Bucky was surprised to see small tears forming in his eyes. Bucky leaned forward, forcing Steve to look at him.

"Listen, Steve, I'm not going to lie and say I'm okay. Because clearly I'm not." He said, indicating his wings. "But I can heal. I'm tough. You being here is also going to make things a lot easier. You know this isn't the first time I've been grounded."

Steve nodded, pursing his lips and turning away. "I know, I just-"

"Steve, look at me."

Steve snapped his head back at Bucky's voice, suddenly commanding and strict. For a moment, Steve saw Bucky's serious, no-nonsense face that he was so used to. Then his features softened with empathy, and he smiled again.

"You can't win them all, Steve. We are at war, there are going to be casualties. But look around." Bucky stretched his arm out to the many soldiers behind them. "This is what you did. That's pretty amazing. Don't overlook that."

Steve sighed through his nose. "You sure you're okay?"

"Feathers grow back, scars fade, and life goes on." Bucky paused, his gaze falling. "It sucks that not everybody made it this far, but that was something I had to accept a long time ago."

Steve took a deep breath, feeling guilty that he had made Bucky comfort him for something so petty. "I could never be as strong as you, Bucky."

"I think we're way past that." Bucky snickered as he reached out to playfully squeeze Steve's bicep. "You've got some explaining to do as well, kiddo."

Steve laughed and began his own story. Bucky listened intently, his eyebrows drawn together as he tried to make himself believe Steve's words. When Steve told Bucky about his transformation, his eyebrows rose up on his forehead. Bucky didn't believe Steve about his wing at first, like Steve knew he would. Steve procured the white feather from his necklace and gave it to Bucky. He stared at it for a good five minutes, but still wasn't entirely sure if Steve was telling the truth. It was only until Steve had revealed the scar on his back that Bucky believed him.

"Holy cow." Bucky muttered, looking at the white feather. "That's one heck of a story, Steve."

"Well, it gets better." Steve said dryly. "After that, they refused to let me into service. So, naturally, I joined a traveling show and became an icon for the recruitment drive." Steve unzipped his jacket to show his costume underneath. Bucky blinked at it, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

"Oh my g-" Bucky looked up at Steve. "You mean Captain America – that was _you_?"

Steve did nothing but bite his lip in embarrassment.

Bucky laughed for so long and so hard after that that Steve could do nothing but sit there and watch in annoyance as Bucky rolled around in the grass, pointing at Steve and making fun of him until tears fell from his eyes and his stomach cramped. But it was an extremely good sight, to see Bucky laughing again after so much had happened. Bucky was right. He was tougher than he looked. He was going to be okay. They had found each other at last. Steve was determined to keep it that way – no matter what.

* * *

A/N: I need to go and... lie down, probably rethink my life after this long ass chapter.

So. Much. DEATH.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	11. Limitless

October, 1924

* * *

"Excuse me, sir?" A small voice said.

The building receptionist folded his newspaper and looked up over his desk. But there was no one standing there. Confused, he cast his gaze around the empty lobby, not a soul in sight that could have been the source of the voice.

"Down here."

The receptionist jumped. He stood from his chair and looked over the edge of the tall desk. A small boy, probably no older than five or six years old, peered up at him with blue – almost white – eyes. He had a messy mop of brown hair on top of his head, his cheeks were a little dirty, and an over coat that was far too large for him hung off his shoulders. In his grimy hands, he held a piece of paper. The receptionist cleared his throat and smiled. He had seen stranger people walk into his lobby.

"What can I do for you, son?" He asked kindly. The kid was obviously nervous, and he didn't want to frighten him.

"Um…" The boy swallowed, holding up the piece of paper to the receptionist. "Can you tell me where this person is?"

The receptionist almost fell out of his desk when he reached down to take the piece of paper from the boy. He flattened out the paper and studied the handwriting on it, eyes immediately catching the familiar name of one of the tenants of the building. He nodded and looked at the boy. He didn't seem like he was here to cause any trouble, but the lack of a mother or father concerned the receptionist. The boy gazed back at him, hands clasped together in front of him in an anxious gesture. The receptionist stood and walked out from behind the desk, smiling softly at the child.

"Do you mind telling me why you are trying to find Ms. Turner?" The receptionist bent over a little, so he wasn't towering over the boy.

"She's supposed to help me with something." The boy said, not meeting the receptionists gaze. "My mom knows I'm here, I promise."

The receptionist nodded and stood. He handed the piece of paper back to the boy and pointed at a pair of doors.

"Listen carefully son, all you need to do is take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, and take the hallway to the left. You got that?" The boy nodded. "Stick with that hallway, and Ms. Turner's apartment is the very last one. Make sure you knock very loudly, sometimes Ms. Turner likes to play her music. You think you can handle that, son?"

The boy nodded, some of the anxiety and nervousness dissipating from his posture. The receptionist walked with the boy over to the elevator and waited with him till the cab came down. The receptionist looked into the elevator as the doors opened up and to the young man inside.

"Hello, Spencer." The receptionist said as the lift boy smiled back. "This young man needs to get up to the fifteenth floor."

"That should be no problem, sir." Spencer said, smiling widely at the boy.

The boy entered the elevator. He still looked a little frightened, but the receptionist knew he would be okay. The receptionist smiled and waved goodbye to the boy, he shyly waved back. Just before the doors of the lift closed, the boy's overcoat suddenly swept to the side, and the receptionist just barely caught a glimpse of brown and white feathers.

Bucky stepped out of the elevator, looking down both sides of the decorated hallway. Spencer called out a farewell and good luck to Bucky as he pulled his lever back. As the elevator doors closed, Bucky turned left and slowly made his way past each door, tucking his father's enormous overcoat tighter around his chest and shoulders. Following the hallway as far as it would go, Bucky eventually came to a door at the end of the corridor. He looked at his sheet of paper again, the numbers on the address matching the numbers on the door. He let his hands swing by his sides as he stared up at the door, his little heart pounding in his chest as his mind raced with indecision.

Finally, Bucky raised a shaking fist and knocked on the door as hard as he could.

For a while, nothing happened. There was no noise or sign of life, not even the sound of footsteps. Bucky cocked an eyebrow and looked at his piece of paper one more time. Yes, this was definitely the right place. He tucked the paper into a pocket and started slamming both fists against the door, a loud and obnoxious rhythm carrying through the hall and the space behind the door.

The door suddenly yanked open, and Bucky almost fell forward. He managed to catch himself just in time to not crash into the pair of knees waiting on the other side. Bucky took a couple steps back and looked up, eyes widening.

A very tall woman was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Her skin was dark, like the color of chocolate, Bucky thought. Her hair was darker, black but with a few streaks of dark brown and cascaded in tight curls down her shoulders. But what made Bucky gawk at her were the pitch black wings that were puffed up behind her – the thick, slender feathers seemed about as long as he was tall. He had never seen wings like that…well, he had ever seen any wings.

The woman made eye contact with Bucky, muddy brown meeting icy blue. She looked startled for a second, looked around behind Bucky, then finally spoke.

"Can I help you?" The woman's voice was firm, but not strict.

Bucky couldn't speak, only stare at her. He had never met someone like her. The woman cocked an eyebrow at him, not knowing what to make of the child gawking at her. Bucky finally broke his gaze and reached into a different pocket of the large overcoat. From there, he procured a large, thick envelope. Without a word, he held the envelope out to the woman. She hesitantly reached out to take it, turning it over in her hands to the front. Her eyes widened as she saw the classic signature for the Society of Avian Affairs. The woman looked to Bucky, then back to the envelope, then back to Bucky.

"Okay… would you like to come in?" She seemed uncertain, but definitely kinder.

Bucky looked behind him, then looked at the woman and nodded. She stepped aside and Bucky walked past her, his coat dragging behind him. As the woman closed the door and followed after Bucky, she broke the seal of the envelope and unsheathed the document within. Her eyes scanned the paper as she and Bucky entered the living room and took seats on opposite sides of the room. Bucky watched her carefully, his lips pinched with anticipation. With each word Ms. Turner read, her eyes grew wider. Finally she set the paper down and looked to Bucky.

"What's your name, kid?"

"James… but I like to be called Bucky." He said.

"My name is Brielle." She looked the boy up and down. "How old are you?"

"I turned seven back in March, ma'am." Bucky blinked. "How old are you?"

Ms. Turner chuckled. "If you really must know, I'll be forty-five in a few months."

Bucky nodded, and a silence lapsed between them. Bucky refused to make eye-contact with her, casting his gaze over the walls of the apartment as he swung his legs. Ms. Turner watched him closely.

"Does your mother know you're here?"

Bucky immediately stopped fidgeting, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Yes, ma'am."

Ms. Turner cocked an eyebrow at the boy. "Don't lie to someone you've just met, Bucky. It makes you look bad."

Bucky stared at her for a few moments, debating whether to stick with his tale or to come clean. He sighed through his nose before speaking.

"I snuck away, because I didn't want ma to come with me." Ms. Turner gave him a confused look. Bucky quickly continued. "There's a baby on the way and my two sisters can't be left alone. I thought it was better if I came by myself. But she does know about you."

Ms. Turner almost cursed. His mother was probably worried sick. The seasons were changing, and the streets of Brooklyn were no place for children to be by themselves. The last thing she wanted was to have an angry mother on her hands. The boy was either brave or stupid to come here all by himself. But she did have to give him some credit for finding his way and showing up relatively unscathed.

"You should never run away from your mother, Bucky." Ms. Turner chided. "She'll be beside herself with worry over you."

"I don't think so, ma'am." Bucky stated. "Ma's got a lot to deal with. She probably hasn't noticed I'm gone."

Ms. Turner frowned. "Well, when you come back, please bring her with you. There are things that she and I need to talk about."

Bucky nodded after a few seconds of hesitation, his face troubled. She stared at the boy, not sure what to think. He hadn't cracked a smile since he got here. His posture was closed and isolating, and he kept his answers short and concise. If she was going to teach this kid anything, she was going to have to loosen him up. That was not going to be easy, she concluded. Bucky shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, licking his lips. The back of his coat shifted slightly. That seemed like a good place to start.

"Bucky, would you like to take your coat off?" Ms. Turner smiled at the boy, trying to appear friendly.

Kids were not her specialty, however, and his reaction to her words was anything but positive. Bucky stiffened and tightened the coat around him. She could see the back of his coat moving suspiciously. Ms. Turner knew exactly what was going on. It was typical for young children to want to keep them hidden.

"No thank you, ma'am." Bucky's voice was tight. "I would much rather prefer to keep it on." His words sounded rehearsed, like he had been saying that same thing to many people.

"Okay, that's fine." It was going to be hard for her to get him to open up. "Do you have any questions for me, Bucky?"

Bucky looked down at the floor, his face scrunched. The look on his face was telling. The boy really wanted to ask her a question, but he didn't know if it was going to get him in trouble or not. She smiled again, trying to be inviting and hopefully set an example. He glanced back up at her a couple times before he quietly said; "Can I see your wings?"

Ms. Turner smirked. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"That's not fair." Bucky said, raising his voice slightly in defense.

"It's gonna happen sooner or later, kid." Ms. Turner dropped her smile and picked up the envelope. "Do you know what this is?"

Bucky stared at the paper before shaking his head. Ms. Turner unfolded the paper, pointing at the printed seal of the SAA.

"These people, the ones who told you to come find me, are in charge of making sure that all the people like you and me know how to get by in this world, do you understand?" Ms. Turner's voice was a little rougher than necessary, but Bucky maintained eye contact with her and nodded. "For you, at this point in your life, that includes learning how to take care of yourself by getting enough to eat and making your own clothes. But most importantly, it means learning how to fly."

At that last part, Bucky's face went pale as his eyes widened. He probably stopped breathing for a second, but Ms. Turner couldn't tell.

"I don't want to fly!" Bucky almost screamed. "I hate heights!"

"Don't worry, you'll get used to them." Ms. Turner waved her hand. "Brave boy like you? Shouldn't be a problem."

Despite her compliment, Bucky still looked mortified. "Please ma'am, I can't fly. I can barely stand at the top of the slide at school."

"Well, what else are you going to do with those things on your back?" As soon as she said that, Bucky tightened his coat again. "If you ain't going to use them, they'll just get in the way. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"I didn't want wings in the first place, ma'am." Bucky said very softly.

Ms. Turner stopped at that. She understood the boy's hesitation towards flying, remembering how she was the same way when she was younger and inexperienced. But with Bucky, it was much more than that. Keeping them covered up, not wanting to acknowledge them… it seemed like Bucky resented – almost _hated_ – his wings. Bucky had dropped his gaze, staring at the carpet as he rubbed his hands on his pants. His eyes were sad. Ms. Turner waited.

"The other kids make fun of me." Bucky finally said. "They pull on them and call me names… that never happened before."

Ms. Turner sighed. "I'm very sorry about that, Bucky."

"Even my friends…" Bucky seemed to be on the verge of tears. "My friends stopped playing with me. I can't control them – I keep knocking stuff over and getting in trouble. I gave Heath Parsons a bloody nose because they snapped out and hit him. I hate them. I wish… I wish they had never grown. I want them to go away. I want things to go back to the way they were."

Ms. Turner didn't know what to say. They sat in silence, Bucky staring at the floor with small drops in his eyes that never fell. She could tell the child didn't want to be here, and that he was in dire need of his mother's embrace. Unfortunately, Ms. Turner couldn't help him with either of those. A maternal instinct was never a trait that she developed. But her heart ached for him. Children could be cruel, the reason most often being because their parents were the same way. The fact that Bucky was already getting his share of discrimination at such a young age withered Ms. Turner's soul a little. What was worse was that she knew that it was not going to get any better as he got older. She just hoped that the boy's spirit wasn't broken yet. Ms. Turner leaned forward as Bucky scrubbed his arm across his eyes, remembering something her father had told her once.

"Bucky, I'm going to tell you something that I want you to remember for the rest of your life." Bucky looked up at her, eyes red and cheeks flushed. Ms. Turner gave him a small, knowing grin. "You are more than your wings. You have wings, yes. But your wings are not who you are. Sometimes, people aren't going to be able to see that. But I'm willing to bet you anything that one day, you'll find the one person who will."

Bucky sniffed. He seemed a little confused. "But then who am I? Why am I here?"

Ms. Turner looked Bucky straight in the eye. She stood up, unfurling her wings to their full length in the large living room. This was the first time Bucky saw wings fully extended up close and personal. There were as long as she was tall, the longest flight feathers the same length as Bucky's legs. His eyes immediately hooked onto the vibrant patch of red feathers on her elbows. The feathers themselves seemed to glow, a stark contrast to the black feathers surrounding them that swallowed light. Bucky couldn't help his mouth from dropping open in awe. Ms. Turner looked down at Bucky.

"You are limitless, Bucky. If you stick with me, I'll show you everything I know. All the secrets that come with being a winged-folk. I'll teach you how to fly. That is why you are here." Ms. Turner paused, swallowing past a lump in her throat. "And if after it all you still don't want your wings… then I won't stop you."

Bucky was captivated by her image. Ms. Turner froze, waiting to see what he would do. Then, she watched as Bucky stood from his spot on her couch and slowly unwrapped his coat. Bucky was scared, but Ms. Turner's wide, encouraging smile gave him courage. As the coat dropped to the floor around his feet, Bucky looked back up at Ms. Turner. In jerky motions, he spread his wings as well. The boy's wings were a little disheveled and out of place, and some of his downy feathers still remained, but he wasn't completely hopeless. His plumage was beautiful and healthy, and still had the sheen that all new wings had. Spattered with brown and white, Ms. Turner couldn't help but be reminded of an eagle. Bucky looked up at her and smiled back. She decided she liked his smile.

"Well done, my boy." Ms. Turner nodded her approval at Bucky.

Bucky's feathers puffed up with joy. Then he started laughing, pure bell tone notes that pleased Ms. Turner's ears and caused her to begin laughing as well.

"Ma'am?" Bucky asked after a few seconds of mirth.

"Please, Bucky." Ms. Turner held up a finger. "'Ma'am' is my mother. Call me Bri."

"Okay, Bri?"

"Yes?"

"Does this mean we're friends?"

Ms. Turner laughed again, the look of happiness and hope on the boy's face was almost comical. Bucky giggled as well.

"Of course it does." Ms. Turner folded her wings and walked over to Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But don't think I won't go easy on you. You've got a lot to learn."

Before Ms. Turner could react, Bucky threw his arms around her waist in a tight hug. Ms. Turner stood stiff for a second, unsure of what to do. After a moment, she laid her hands gently on Bucky's head and back, patting him softly. He hugged her tightly for a few seconds longer, a warm embrace that she had never experienced before.

"Bri?"

"Mmhm?"

"Do you have any cookies?"

* * *

"You sure you're up for this, son?" Colonel Phillips looked across the table, the slightest hint of pity in his eyes. "No one will judge you for wanting to call it quits and go home. Especially after what you've been through."

Bucky just blinked at the man, his usual level of cool only slightly disturbed by his eyebrow twitching with annoyance.

"I assure you, Colonel Phillips, this is what I want to do." Bucky nodded his head once. "'Calling it quits' is just not in my nature."

Colonel Phillips couldn't help his eyes glancing down at the man's shoulders. Bucky's wings were carefully tucked away inside his blue jacket, giving him a bulky appearance. Bucky saw him looking and shifted in his seat, drawing the other man's gaze back to his face. He really wished the Colonel would just clear him for duty instead of wasting his time.

"You've been through long range-elimination training and aerial combat." Colonel Phillips read off the document in front of him. "But you've never done any hand-to hand combat?"

"Not through the army, no." Bucky sighed. "I trained in boxing for a few years."

"And you think that's good enough to get you through this war?" Colonel Phillips barked.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Colonel Phillips didn't know what to think. This kid had every reason to demand that he be returned home as soon as possible. He could have argued trauma and mistreatment and all kinds of things, anything to appeal an honorable discharge. Almost all of the war prisoners that had been rescued had done that with no persuasion. But he passed his psyche evaluation, and appealed for a reinstatement to service. Now, it had become very clear that Sergeant Barnes and Rogers shared a very strong bond. But what Colonel Phillips still didn't understand was how these two young men seemed to be so keen on marching into hell together. Especially after what Barnes had been through – the loss of his team was more difficult for him than he let on, Phillips could tell – it was amazing he had come out of that factory of horrors with only his wings plucked.

"Just answer me this one question, son." Colonel Phillips moved the file aside and folded his hands on the table. "If you get cleared for Captain Rogers' team, you will be working operations that you have not been trained for. All your time spent as a flight-correspondence will mean almost nothing out there on the ground. Until you recover, I cannot guarantee you the same protections and treatments that the mandate has described. You will, essentially, be a regular soldier, and will be expected to perform like one. Do you truly think you are ready for this?"

Bucky stared hard at the Colonel, something almost akin to anger in his icy-blue eyes. Bucky leaned forward as well, not blinking as he matched the Colonel's posture. For a moment, Phillips thought Barnes might attack him.

"I am more than my wings, Colonel." Bucky stated. "You and I both know that I am more than qualified for reinstatement. My injuries do not impair my abilities to fight, shoot, or strategize. Steve – Captain Rogers was well aware what he was asking when he came to me about joining his team. I also know what it means. I only had one answer for Steve, and I have the same answer for you; absolutely."

His conviction was like concrete. Colonel Phillips cracked a smile, impressed by the Sergeant's will and perseverance. Had Colonel Phillips been in Bucky's shoes, he probably would not have been so bold. There was indeed a lot more to this man than his wings. Colonel Phillips stood from the table, Bucky rising as well. Colonel Phillips held out his hand. Bucky gripped it and shook hands, a barely concealed grin on his face.

"Welcome to the Howling Commandos, Sergeant Barnes."

* * *

A/N: Short chapter compared to what's been done in the past. You learn a lot about Bucky in this one. Next chapters will start to get interesting.

Which brings me to announce that I have a poll for you readers! It's on my page, and I really need people to vote, as it will help me write the next chapter. Please go submit your vote!

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	12. High Speed

_January, 1944_

* * *

Steve stood over the collapsed form of the train engineer. He hadn't meant to knock him out, but when the man pulled a large shotgun out of nowhere, Steve just reacted. Steve groaned as his limbs relaxed a little. _Perfect_. Steve had picked up a lot of tricks over the past couple of months, but operating a train was not one of them. He kicked the gun away as he tepidly approached the various cranks, levers, and knobs at the forefront of the train. The coal fire spat angrily at his ankles, like an animal in its cage. Steve looked anxiously between a long lever sticking out of the floor and a wheel with a large red handle. Either of them could have been a brake, and Steve wasn't certain either way. Moving his shield to his back, Steve made an official decision and wrapped a gloved hand around the lever.

"Not that one!"

Had it not been for the British accent, Steve might have accidentally taken Falsworth's head off on reflex alone. Steve turned as the man finished climbing up the ladder into the front compartment. He gave the unconscious engineer on the ground a confused look, then cast that look to Steve. Steve couldn't do anything but frown and shrug. Falsworth shrugged as well, walking past Steve. He surveyed the mechanization of the train with a knowing eye.

"Lucky for the both of us, trains were my fascination as a boy." Falsworth shouted over the engine. He reached up and grabbed a lever hanging down from the ceiling and pulled it all the way back. The train lurched as the front wheels stopped spinning and sparks flew against the rails. Steve and Falsworth braced themselves until the train stopped completely. Falsworth let go of the lever, letting it slide into its neutral position and smiling at Steve. "It's funny how things can come back to you like that."

Steve smiled and shook his head. The tally of how many times one of his team members could one-up him had just gone up. Falsworth climbed down the ladder from the engineer's compartment and looked down the length of the train. Car upon car sat silently in the distorted light of the setting sun, all enemy soldiers either knocked out, killed, or thrown off along the way to the front. Steve climbed up to the roof of the coal car, getting his bearings on the flat, dry Croatian landscape. Looking forward along the tracks, Steve could see the tell-tale lights that sat on top of the fences that surrounded Hydra factories. If he had to guess, the base was probably about ten miles away, but with the bad light it was hard to tell. Steve heard a whistle, and turned to look down the train. He saw the silhouettes of two of his team members standing on top of one of the cargo carriers waving their arms at him.

Falsworth jogged on the ground alongside the train while Steve jumped the roofs of the cars. As they approached the other two, Steve also saw that there was a third person, sitting on the roof the car and not moving. He slowed, the details of Morita and Dernier coming into focus as he approached. He looked down at the one who was sitting, easily recognizing Dugan's bowler hat in the twilight. What concerned him was the fact that Dugan wasn't running his mouth like usual.

"What happened?" Steve looked to the other two.

"Nothing." Morita sighed. "He wasn't ready when the train stopped. Hit his head when he fell down. Frenchy says he'll be fine." Dernier nodded the affirmative. Dugan looked up, scowling.

"If I had known that this god-forsaken death train was going to come to a screeching halt, I would have been fine!"

"That's what you get for opting out of a safety tether." Falsworth shouted from the ground.

"I don't want to hear it, crumpet!"

Steve chuckled and looked around. He had been a little worried there for a minute. They had managed to take over the train and get it to stop right at the edge of the time window that they were given. A hundred feet more down the tracks, and they would have been spotted by the Hydra base. But it was no easy task, accomplishing what they had. The train had been more heavily protected than they thought it would be. Steve thought it was odd that a train carrying weapons needed so much security, but they had gotten the job done and that was all that mattered. Another successful blow to Hydra for the books – and one step closer to Schmidt, where ever the bastard was hiding.

"Steve, you better come look at this."

Everybody looked up as Steve walked over the other side of the train, peering down into the shadow of the car to see Bucky standing there, eyes glued to the open cargo door. Steve dropped down from the roof of the car and walked over to stand next to Bucky, anxious to see what had his friend so transfixed. Bucky never took his eyes off the car. Steve peered into the car, his night vision taking a little longer to adjust than Bucky's. At first, all he saw was the sparse light glinting off of a bunch of pairs of... something. Then he heard a whimper.

"Oh, shit." Steve breathed.

The decrepit faces of dozens of men, women, and children peered out at Steve and Bucky, their eyes glistening wetly. Their expressions were a mixture of fear, sorrow, and confusion. Their faces were smudged with dirt, eyes were sunken in, and lips were chapped. The reek of bodily fluids and unbathed humans was almost too much. Steve's eyes fixed on a young girls face, aged far beyond her years by pain and stress. A tarnished necklace hung around her neck, a bent pendant in the shape of the Star of David sticking out from the darkness like its name. Steve's hands tightened into fists as his heart pounded with rage.

"I thought Hydra didn't do concentration camps." He hissed through his teeth.

"Well…they still need workers." Bucky said in monotone. Steve looked to his friend, a small spark of concern jumping in his chest. Bucky's face remained stone. "Chances are all these cars are full of prisoners. We need to get them out of here quickly, before that base sends out a patrol."

Steve huffed, knowing Bucky was right. He took a step toward the car, the nearest of the prisoners immediately backing away from him. Steve held up his hands, his throat tightening at their fearful reaction. Slowly, he undid the buckle of the strap on his helmet. When he removed it, the cool air prickled his scalp, making his hair stick out at odd angles. Steve placed the helmet on the worn boards of the car, never taking his eyes off the people inside. Steve spoke softly to the prisoners, uncertain of how much English they understood. He would have tried German, but he didn't want to send the wrong message.

A young man came forward and cautiously looked Steve and Bucky up and down. Steve helped him down from the car, keeping him steady as he tried to regain his feet. He was incredibly weak and very skinny, but he stood straight and looked back at his people. In a language that Steve did not recognize – Yiddish, if he had to guess – he helped coax the rest of them out of the car. As the little girl with the necklace came forward out of the car, Steve received a small shock to see that she was a winged-folk, pale-gray feathers ruffled and dirty. He looked to Bucky, who was staring sadly at the girl as he helped an elderly man down from the car.

As the prisoners regained their feet, Steve was relieved to see that many of them still had the common sense to high-tail it away from the train tracks, scattering across the hills and making for the trees as fast as they could, aiding their elderly and wounded. When it seemed that all the prisoners had gotten out, Steve covered his nose and mouth and peered into the car. There were a couple lifeless figures that laid in the corners of the car, unmoving. Steve sighed as he backed away from the car. The Howling Commandos set off in teams, heading opposite directions along the train. Just as Bucky had predicted, the other cars were also full of prisoners. Each car was in as worse shape as the first. But as more and more prisoners took off, it took less convincing to get them out of their cars as soon as they opened the doors. Some of the stronger ones stuck around to help with unloading the people.

Steve turned from the last car to the sight around him. Prisoners were fleeing all along the train, some of the few winged-folk that were freed took flight, eyes clear and even a little bit of hope in their features. Most of them probably had no idea what they were going to do once they got clear of danger, or how to find their way home – but they were _free_. As they passed Steve and Bucky, they grabbed their hands and spoke hurriedly at them, expressing what Steve assumed was gratitude. Steve felt a smile playing at his lips, a sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. Turning to look for Bucky, he spotted his friend among the dispersing crowd. He was deep in conversation with another winged-man. It seemed intense, both of their eyebrows scrunched. Steve frowned as he saw the other man wave his arms around in hysteria as he spoke in rushed words. Bucky listened intently, then patted the man on the shoulder as he finished. The other man nodded his head as Bucky responded, then spread his wings and took off without looking back. Steve went to stand next to Bucky, and they both watched him disappear into the sky.

"He just so happened to speak Polish." Bucky commented. "Said the soldiers came to their town and ransacked their homes. They gathered all the Jews, winged-folk, and undesirables and packed them all onto that train three days ago."

Steve quirked an eyebrow, troubled by this information. What on earth would Hydra want with farmers, bakers, and shoemakers? It was bizarre for Hydra to take civilian prisoners, since they preferred to put their POW's to work. And what had happened to the weapons cargo that they had been expecting to intersect? Bucky looked at Steve, waiting for him to respond. When he didn't, he turned back towards the front of the train.

"We should go see if the others are finished." Bucky tapped Steve's arm, and they fell into step along the train tracks, heading back to the engine.

They had barely walked ten feet before a loud shot broke the silence and a red flare exploded into the sky, lighting up the darkness. Bucky and Steve shared one look before they both took off sprinting to the front of the train. As they ran, a second red flare burst into the sky, and the sound of a far off siren echoed across the land. Steve cursed and doubled his speed, Bucky just barely managing to keep up with him. Steve jumped on the ladder to the engineer's compartment to see Dernier and Dugan standing over the body of the same engineer Steve had knocked out just an hour ago. But this time the engineer was face-up, an empty flare gun resting in his limp hand. Dugan was holding the man's own shotgun away from his body, as if he had just finished using it. Steve looked at the other two.

"We need to move."

"There's still two cars that haven't been evacuated yet." Dugan stated. "We were right in the middle of it when-"

"We've got trouble, lads!" Falsworth's voice carried over from beyond the front of the train.

Steve stood straight as he peered through the front windows. What he saw sent a jolt of electricity up his spine.

The Hydra base was alive with lights and sirens. The wall surrounding it had separated into an opening, from which trucks, motorcycles, and a singular high-speed railcar came thundering toward them. At the speed they were traveling, Steve predicted that they had about five minutes before the first trucks got to them.

"Lieutenant!" Steve shouted through the window. Falsworth spun on his heel and ran back to the train. Steve turned back around just as Morita and Bucky entered the compartment. He looked to Dugan. "How many cars have you not checked?"

"Just these first three." Dugan jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "But only two of them still have people in them as far as I know."

"They'll never get away fast enough…" Steve thought outloud.

Falsworth was climbing up the ladder, his red beret slightly askew. "What on earth are we still doing here?"

"If we book it now, we can make it to that tree line with plenty of time to-"

"We're not going anywhere if there are still prisoners on this train." Steve set his jaw. "Lieutenant, get us rolling."

Falsworth didn't hesitate to take control of the train, but he had an uncertain look on his face that he shared openly with the rest of the team. Falsworth gripped the same lever he had to make the train stop and pulled it back again. The train rumbled to life and, at an agonizingly slow pace, began to move backwards.

"Rogers, they have a heavily armored railcar and we have a measly little coal train. They'll catch up with us long before we reach full speed." Dugan protested. "We need to abandon the train."

"Hate to disagree, but I'm with DumDum on this one." Morita stated. "What good are we to these prisoners if we get captured?"

"Enough!" Steve shouted. "Dernier, come up with something to slow them down. Dugan, Morita, you guys need to take positions on either side of this train."

"But Captain-"

"Do as he says."

Everybody looked to Bucky, but he had his eyes fixed on the sky. They all looked up, seeing a lone silhouette just barely standing out in the afterglow of the sunset. Steve didn't know what Bucky was seeing, but he looked at all of them with a confident smirk and a quick nod. Morita, Dugan, and Dernier all exchanged looks of uncertainty. Finally, Dernier sat down on the floor of the compartment and began working with his gadgets, scooping an armful of coal closer to him. Morita and Dugan climbed back to the top of the train and took their positions, rifles cocked and safety tethers fastened. Steve turned to Bucky.

"What's going on?" He asked. Bucky slung his rifle back and began to climb out the window, heading for the front of the train. The locomotive had picked up speed – though not enough to be considered dangerous.

"We just need to hold them off for fifteen minutes, maybe less." Was all Bucky said before he was climbing along the side of the train. Steve gulped. He hated not knowing vital parts of the plan. But he trusted Bucky, and his word was good enough for him.

Steve climbed out of the opposite window, headed toward the front of the train as well. The train was starting to speed up considerably, but already he could see the tracks being lit up by the light on the front of the railcar. Motorcycles sped past them, their drivers peering up at Steve and Bucky through goggles. They continued along the side of the train, seemingly with the intention to board. But Dugan and Morita were ready for them. Steve faced forward, the wind beginning to whip past him and catch on his shield and whip his hair. The railcar was beginning to gain on them, coming around a slight bend in the tracks and running with them. Bucky raised his rifle and began firing at the narrow windows of the conductor's compartment. There was a shattering of glass, but the railcar did not slow. A truck sped out in front of the train, a spray of bullets erupting out of the back window. Steve threw up his shield and felt the reverberations of the bullets. Bucky was quick to react as well, bringing up his own gun and firing back at the truck. The sharp _ping's_ of the bullets hitting the side of the truck with deadly accuracy caused the driver to slam on the brakes and retreat back behind the railcar.

Within a few seconds, the railcar had almost covered the gap between their noses, and showed no signs of slowing down. They were going to ram them! Steve and Bucky braced themselves for the impact, praying that they had built enough speed to not get knocked off the tracks. The blaring light of the railcar blinded Steve for a few seconds, but he dared not raise his shield to cover his eyes for fear of loosening his grip.

The entire train rocked as the engines collided. The crunch of metal and screeching wheels filled the air as Steve's feet were jerked out from under him. The engine of the train pitched sideways, and for a second, Steve's back was at an acute angle with the ground. He thought for sure that the train was going to tip. He gritted his teeth and waited to be smeared between the land and the train. But the train stopped tilting sideways, paused in its proceedings for a brief second, then slammed back down onto the tracks. Hanging on with nothing but the strength in his hands, he looked over to Bucky. He seemed to be having the exact opposite problem from Steve; his hands were gripping nothing, but his boots were caught in the large grill of the locomotive. It probably hurt his ankles, but it was the only thing that was keeping Bucky from tumbling over the side of the train.

Steve's heart lurched as he jumped into action. He called Bucky's name as he swung across the front of the train like an acrobat. Bucky's eyes were wide and terrified and his scraggly wings had burst through the holes in his jacket. As Steve reached to take Bucky's arm, another truck zoomed up to them. Steve quickly yanked Bucky into an upright position – just in time to avoid being shredded by bullets. Like monkeys in a tree, they climbed over the train to the partial roof of the engine. Bucky had lost his gun during the collision. But the same little 'bump' seemed to give their own train the speed boost it needed to run in tandem with the armored railcar. Another collision seemed unlikely. Bucky and Steve squatted on the roof of the engine, the sounds of Dugan and Morita's guns fending of motorists behind them was reassuring.

"Falsworth!" Bucky shouted below as he pressed himself down to avoid the shooters in the truck. "I need your rifle! And for god's sake,_ punch it_!"

A few seconds later, an arm with a gun poked out of the window. Bucky reached down to take it, dropping to one knee as the chimney of the engine spat fire and the rumble of the wheels crescendoed. Bucky immediately raised his gun and fired at the truck that was coming alongside the engine. Bullet holes appeared on the windshield, and the truck began careening wildly. Steve watched his friend, seeing the sparse feathers on his wings flutter in the wind. Quite a few had grown back over the past two months, but he was by no means ready to fly. It seemed that Bucky's flight feathers and covert feathers would make a full recovery, as even the tips of the new quills had started to grow in. But Bucky had grown ashamed of his mangled wings, and always kept them hidden in his jacket. Seeing his friend so insecure about something that once gave him so much pride hurt Steve – and it renewed his hatred for Hydra.

"Capitaine!"

Steve looked down into the engineering compartment. Dernier was looking up at him, holding a bulky sack with wires sticking out of the top. He tossed it up to Steve, who caught it and was momentarily thrown off by how much the sack weighed. He speculated that the bag was full of coal and whatever combustion gizmo Dernier had cooked up. Knowing what he did about Dernier, the bomb was probably impact sensitive. After all, Dernier used to make the same explosive packages that Bucky had used.

Steve turned and faced the railcar, taking in its heavy metal plates and the armada of trucks that swarmed around it. The distance between the nose of the railcar and the engine oscillated greatly, as each train tried to pick up more speed than the other. Throwing the explosive onto the tracks was out of the question. Steve peered through the light of the railcar, just barely making out the narrow windows on the front. One of them was a little darker than the other – the window that Bucky had shot out earlier. Steve took a couple steps backward as he transferred his shield to his back. Bucky turned around to reload a clip into his gun, glancing up at Steve. His head shot fully up as he took in Steve's crouched form and his focused gaze.

"Steve? What are you-"

Steve was already running. It only took four giant strides to get Steve to the front of the train with only about ten feet of air separating him from the railcar and twelve feet from a grisly death on the tracks between the two. Bracing both feet against the roof, the force of Steve's legs pushing him into the air would have been enough to clear a six foot fence. But height wasn't the problem; it was having enough forward momentum. Steve propelled his arms through the air, one hand clutching the burlap sack with his heart pounding as he quickly dropped toward the armored face of the railcar. Reaching an arm out, Steve's hand grasped at the edge of the railcar's roof – and fell just short.

Reflexes working quickly, Steve managed to wedge his fingers between two armor plates on the face of the railcar as gravity took over his course. He groaned as his chest and knees slammed into the railcar, the tracks speeding by only a couple feet below his heels. Steve's fingertips couldn't hold him much longer. Biting the sack in his teeth, Steve began to scale the face of the railcar, making his way to the narrow window just above. He could hear the rest of the commandos trying to keep the trucks off of him, but a small spray of bullets next to Steve's right hand made him flinch and almost lose his grip as a couple more bounced off the shield on his back. Finally, Steve was eye-level with the broken window. He peered inside quickly, but was met with nothing but darkness. Quickly – but carefully – Steve stuffed the bomb into the window as far as it would go. It didn't go far, but as soon as Steve was confident that it wouldn't fall out, he dropped down a few feet. Hanging in the face of the railcar, Steve looked back at the locomotive.

"Bucky!" Steve tried to shout over the sounds of the trains.

Bucky's head poked out from the side of chimney of the train. Steve frantically pointed at the bomb hanging out of the window, hoping his message would be understood. Bucky raised his gun, but didn't fire. First, he shot his gaze up to the sky. Steve looked up too, but with the glare of the lights and the night sky there wasn't much he could see. Bucky looked back down and leveled his gun. One shot was all it took.

Steve covered his face with his arm as the bomb ignited and flames lit up the night. The compartment of the railcar was ablaze, blowing out the other window and frying the controls. But the explosive was much stronger than Steve anticipated. With much of the force of the explosion going against the railcar, the front wheels jumped off the tracks as the entire engine lurched backwards, farther away from the train. Unlike the locomotive, however, the wheels did not line back up with the tracks. The horrible screeching sound of metal on metal filled Steve's ears as the nose of the railcar pitched forward, dirt and wood flying up on either side of the derailed wheels. Steve clutched at the front of the railcar, groaning as he desperately tried to think of a way to escape the flaming death-train. His own train was getting farther and farther away every second. The smooth metal face of the railcar made it difficult to get his feet under him, and Steve was quickly running out of options.

A truck rolled into view. Acting quickly, Steve swung himself like a pendulum. Heaving himself up at the peak of his swing, Steve let go of the railcar just as the wheels caught and the entire car pitched into a vertical roll, one end flipping over the other. Steve hit the side of the truck with much more grace than he had with the train, hands firmly grasping the rails on the top of the truck. Swiftly, Steve punched through the window, opened the door, and tossed out the driver. Taking his place in the driver's seat, Steve thrust the edge of his shield sharply into the back of the head of his passenger. Steve's ears began ringing as soon as he closed the door and grabbed the wheel. Without the wind rushing by and the thrum of large engines, the dark cabin of the truck was eerily quiet. His own breathing seemed loud. Steve huffed a single laugh, looking in the rearview mirror at the burning wreckage of the railcar.

As well as the small army of armored trucks trailing after him and the locomotive. There was no way they would be able to escape all of them, not enough bullets or coal to sustain any kind of standoff or getaway. Steve cursed, speeding up alongside the train. Bucky was watching him approach, his expression impressed and annoyed with Steve's acrobatic spectacle. Steve leaned out the broken window, trying to shout to Bucky. But his words were lost on the wind, Bucky put his hand to his ear and shook his head. Steve was about to try again, when a loud _whump_ from his roof made him jump in his seat. Steve craned his head to look up, relief filling him at what he saw.

"That was quite the show, Captain." Gabe shouted, torso pressed low to the roof of the truck with his wings partially folded so as not to catch the wind. "Maybe you should have looked into Barnum and Bailey's."

"Don't count on an encore." Steve cast a glance behind them. "We won't be able to hold them off for long."

"We won't have to." Gabe was smiling, his white teeth matching the white stripe at the tips of his flight feathers. "As soon as I saw them rolling out of the base, I called for backup. I was signaling to Barnes, but I figured he didn't pass along the message…again."

Steve shook his head. So that was what Bucky had seen earlier. Only Bucky and Gabe had the eyesight that was good enough to see each other clearly from the ground and sky, and they both knew the same hand signs. Gabe was also the comms specialist in his own flight squad before being taken by Hydra. He could communicate with the rest of the Commandos on the ground through Bucky and still stay in touch with base through his comms unit while in the air. Gabe had become the Howling Commando's one-man flight correspondence squad.

"They should be here real soon. But right now, you've got company!" Gabe shouted just before spreading his wings and taking to the air once again. Another truck was gaining on Steve, the man in the passenger seat training his gun out the window at Steve's head.

Steve jerked the wheel, steering the truck sharply toward the other vehicle. The back end of Steve's truck rammed into the headlight of the other with enough force to send the truck spinning. Steve reacted as his own car started to spin-out, but managed to correct the skid in time. Two other trucks started to give chase, so Steve stepped on the gas and sped up along the cars of the train. A few bullets glanced off the side of the truck, but it was not enemy fire. Steve quickly stuck his arm out the window and waved at Morita. Morita immediately lowered his gun and waved back, an apologetic frown on his face. A split second later, though, Morita had his gun trained to just behind Steve. The truck gave a lurch forward as another truck crashed into Steve's tailgate. Steve struggled to keep his car steady, but after another bash from the other truck, Steve could hear the wheel wells grinding against the back tires. The car wasn't going to hold out for much longer.

A loud _boom _– like thunder, only deeper – interrupted Steve's thoughts. An explosion erupted only a few feet to the side of the truck behind him, sending dirt across Steve's windshield. Steve sighed in relief as he saw the truck retreat through the rearview mirror, along with other explosions and burst of dirt within the enemy cars that had begun to slow and turn around. Steve looked forward, a grin gracing his lips at what he saw.

Large cargo vans filled with soldiers and tanks were rolling over the hills, the American Flag painted on their sides. From the cockpit of one tank, Peggy Carter poked her head out and lifted a pair of binoculars to her eyes. She knew the force they had brought was a bit of an overkill as backup for Steve's team, but she too was on the tally board for one-upping Steve, so she seized the opportunity. It only took a few shots from the tanks to send all the Hydra soldiers in full retreat back to their base. Falsworth eased the train to a stop as their cohorts met them on the tracks. Steve pulled his battered truck up in front of the Allied line and stepped out. The headlights of the trucks lit up the area, chasing away the night. Peggy sauntered over to meet him, a barely concealed smile on her red lips.

"Captain." She greeted. "Lose your helmet again?"

Steve put a hand to his head. He hadn't even realized that he had never collected it from the first car of prisoners that he had set it in. It had probably fallen out of the car at some point along the way. He smiled back at her.

"What can I say, I have a knack for losing helmets."

Steve turned to stand next to her, both watching as the Commandos and some soldiers helped unload people from the last three cars – turns out there actually were people in the last car. The prisoners looked rattled, to say the least. They watched as the people were escorted to trucks and cars, tears of gratitude and relief streaming down their dirty faces. Steve heard a thump behind them, and turned to see Gabe walking towards them, his wings spread and warm from exercise. Gabe's feathers were interesting; his top feathers and longest flight feathers were a brownish-gray. But the flight feathers closest to his body were an iridescent green-blue, tipped with white. They reflected light like glass. His underparts were a lighter brown, flecked with black.

"All Commandos accounted for, Captain." Gabe reported. He reached a hand over to massage the soreness out of his wing-elbow.

"Very good, Private." Steve smiled and nodded. He felt bad for Gabe – he had been flying non-stop all day, and had to be exhausted and starving. That was the problem with having only one winged-soldier; there were too many duties that Gabe was entrusted with, and although the Private followed through on those duties admirably, it was a lot to take on. But Bucky promised, as soon as he was flight ready, that he would happily share the load with Gabe. "How are you doing, Gabe?"

Gabe shrugged, removing his helmet to massage his temple. "I'm fine, but all the chatter in my ear has given me a right-foul headache, you know?"

"We'll be heading out soon, and there's a big meal waiting for you." Peggy said. "You've certainly earned it."

Gabe never looked more happy.

They left the train on the tracks. Most prisoners were able to find spots on the benches and floors of the cargo vans. The rest were the lucky few that got to ride on the tanks. The Commandos and Peggy met for a short meeting, mostly just talking about how they thought the mission went. Steve's stunt with the railcar was the main topic of conversation. Afterwards, Steve spotted Gabe and Bucky talking to each other. They had grown quite attached since meeting each other at the joining of the Howling Commandos, which Steve was grateful for. It gave Bucky a chance to start over, though maybe not in the way he would have wanted. And Gabe got the opportunity to learn and improve as Bucky taught him everything that Brielle had taught him. Though, every now and then, Steve would catch Bucky shooting envious glances up at the sky. But Bucky had told Steve that he was just glad that Gabe hadn't been put under Zola's knife and needle like he had.

Steve walked over to Bucky when Gabe turned to find his own seat in the van with the rest of the Commandos. In unison, Steve and Bucky silently walked back to the train. Bucky's eyes were trained on the metal locomotive. His mind was working and Steve's was, too. Trying to figure out what this all meant. Finally Steve spoke.

"What I still don't understand," He said softly, even though no one was close enough to overhear. "Is what happened to the weapons cargo that we were expecting? How did our intel mess that up?"

"I'm not so sure they did." Bucky stated darkly. Steve looked over to Bucky, who just kept his eyes trained on the dark interior of the open door of the first car, now empty.

Bucky felt Steve's gaze. He said nothing more on the matter, but he did roll up the sleeve of his blue jacket, exposing his forearm. With the underside facing up, Steve's eyes were immediately drawn to the puckered crater-like scar near the crook of Bucky's arm. Angry red veins spread out from the puncture wound of the large needle that Zola had used, but they were much more faded than when Steve had first seen it. Steve stared at the mark, his mind coming to the same conclusion that Bucky had. Bucky pulled his sleeve back down as he finally met Steve's eye.

"I think these people are the weapons." He said. Steve could almost see the flashback behind Bucky's eyes. "Or they were going to be."

Steve scowled, an image of the young winged-girl strapped to a table like Bucky, her pale-gray feathers plucked bare. It set his stomach roiling and a fire in his heart.

"I guess human experimentation is starting to catch on." Steve sighed. He and Bucky turned back toward the vans, tired and hungry.

Bucky's wings were still untucked, his sparse feathers fluttering a little as he walked. Steve smiled; it truly was amazing that his wings were healing, given the extent of damage that had been done to them. Doctors had said there was only a slight chance that the feathers would grow back, the feather pores being too scarred. But no less than two weeks later, small little tufts of new downy feathers pocked the limbs, and Bucky's hope was renewed. Steve was relieved as well – if Bucky had lost his wings, he might not have survived. Now they were just counting the days till Bucky was fully fledged once again.

"You know what, Steve?" Bucky said, drawing Steve's attention away from his wings. "I've decided that I _hate_ trains."

* * *

A/N: So the poll was unanimous with Gabe, so he is the winged-soldier for the Howling Commandos! I based his wings off of a wood-duck, as most ducks have those weird shiny blue-green feathers.

There's going to be quite a few of these Commando mission, to see how winged-folk are affecting the war. I'm excited.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	13. Allies

February, 1944

* * *

The skies were unusually clear, allowing a biting cold to settle thickly over the streets of London. Bucky's breath puffed in front of him as he strolled through the cobblestone streets, taking in the architecture and atmosphere that was so different from Brooklyn. The buildings were smaller, but closer together – the exact opposite of the spread-out skyscrapers of New York. Bucky sighed, the thought of home filling him with longing. Bucky continued walking, taking a turn down a smaller street without thinking about it. He absently read the signs of the shops, not really taking in what they said. He would have loved to see London from the sky, but his wings were still healing. In the meantime, he didn't mind walking. There were few other pedestrians on this street, their faces hidden by hats or umbrellas. Bucky thought it was odd that the women had their parasols up, considering the bright sun that was out. But he didn't have much time to contemplate it, since he was running late for…

Actually, he suddenly realized, he didn't know. He stopped walking, looking around in confusion.

What was he doing?

How did he get here?

An eerie quiet had suddenly settled over London. The sounds of horses and carriages, cars and people had abruptly stopped. The other pedestrians had stopped as well, standing still as statues in the streets with their heads bowed. Bucky turned slowly, a sinking feeling in his chest warning him that something was _very_ wrong. Where was his team? Where was Steve? Where was _he?_ Bucky quickly cast his gaze down the street, but every sign he tried to read became a jumbled mess of letters that didn't make sense. Bucky licked his lips, quelling his panic as he moved out into the middle of the street.

"Hello?" Bucky called. Bucky didn't know what kind of response he expected, but he was greeted with more silence. The other people on the street remained stony and still. For a long time, Bucky stood there… waiting…

"Barnes."

Bucky stiffened – not only because of the sudden voice from behind him, but also because he knew who the voice belonged to. Bucky turned slowly, eyes widening at what he saw. Sergeant Hodges stood a couple meters away. She was still wearing her uniform, minus the head gear so her face could be seen clearly. Her hair shined in the light, skin glowing with life. She looked healthy, despite the hole in her chest that a thick, steady stream of blood was flowing from and pooling at her feet. Her right wing was limp, dragging on the stones. She was smiling softly at Bucky, small tears of longing in her blue eyes. Bucky's breath hitched in his chest.

"Barnes…" She said again, even though her lips didn't move.

Bucky took a step toward her, feelings of joy and sorrow fighting for dominance in his heart. He suddenly didn't care that it was impossible that she was there, that the sky had gone from blue to gray, and that his own wings were unfurled and reaching for her. Nicole's smile widened, lips parting to reveal her teeth were still red with blood. Bucky was dying to ask her so many questions, to tell her he was sorry for what had happened to her. That he missed her and the others more than anything. But he remained silent, his voice choked by his own tears falling down his cheeks.

Until he gave a small yelp as a stinging pain struck his left wing. Bucky recoiled the limb, drawing it closer to see a small spurt of blood from a freshly plucked feather pore. Bucky looked down, seeing the feather lying in the street as if it belonged there. He cried out again as a handful of feathers from his right wing were yanked out. But this time, the feathers were clenched in the hand of the man standing next to Bucky, his face hidden by a top hat.

Bucky quickly looked back up at Nicole. Her face had turned from happiness to apathy, skin paler and eyes glazed over. Her glow was gone. Now she looked like she had when Bucky had last seen her; leaned limply against a tree in the dark, cold forest. Another citizen came to life, reaching for Bucky's wings. Bucky backed away quickly, bumping into another person who grabbed handfuls of feathers from both wings and tore them out. Bucky screamed, the pain enough to make him fall to his knees. Breathing heavily, Bucky lifted his head, and watched as Nicole closed her eyes and fell to the ground, dead once again. Bucky howled in pain as people surrounded him and tore at his wings, until nothing remained.

* * *

Steve watched Bucky from across the car. His friend was twirling the blue and brown feather on his necklace between his fingers, eyes far away. Although Bucky had already sent back the rosary and dog tags to Sergeant Garcia's family, he didn't trust the postal system to be delicate with the fragile feathers. So he had gotten the Hodges sister's feathers preserved in resin and kept them with him, telling Steve that he would return them in person when this was all over. Steve could understand that reasoning, but something told him that there was something else that made him hold on to those feathers. Steve wanted to talk to Bucky about it, but he knew that was a topic Bucky would have to want to talk about. It withered Steve's heart a little, because they hadn't had a chance to actually _be _friends since they reunited.

Steve had realized that last night, when Bucky had shot straight up in bed, shocked out of deep sleep. Steve could remember it clearly. Bucky was sweating and gasping, eyes wide. It was lucky that Steve had still been awake, sitting and reading over mission reports at one of the two small desks in the bunker that he and Bucky shared. Steve twisted in his chair when he heard Bucky's sharp intake of air and squeaking bed springs. By the dim lantern light, Steve saw Bucky's feathers standing on end and goosebumps on his skin. The first thing Bucky had done was reach a hand behind him to feel his wings. He seemed to relax as his fingers touched the feathers. Then he turned around, freezing as he saw Steve staring at him with worry. Bucky released a breath, shaking his head.

"Jeez, you scared the hell out of me." Bucky said as he scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

"I was about to say the same." Steve remarked. "Another bad dream?"

Bucky swung his legs over the bed, pulling on his army cargo pants but leaving his torso bare. Steve was also down to just his uniform pants and an undershirt. It got pretty stuffy in the concrete bunkers. They only had one ventilation hole that hardly did anything with the heat.

"Yeah…" Bucky answered as he walked over to Steve. He pulled up the other chair and swung it around, sitting in it backwards as he brought a wing forward to comb through the feathers. "They're getting more creative."

Steve waited a while, before he quietly asked "Who was it this time?"

Bucky said nothing for a while, sorting through his feathers and checking to see which ones were starting to grow in. "Nicole." He finally said. Steve cringed slightly – hers were always the worst.

"Do you want to ta-"

"So what are you doing?" Bucky snapped his wing back as he folded his arms over the back of the chair, observing the documents on the desk as a way of avoiding Steve's gaze. Steve sighed. He couldn't remember the last time they had a conversation that didn't involve missions and war. But, not wanting to push the matter, Steve spread the papers out for Bucky to see, taking in the news.

"Just got these today. They're relocating us back to London. Not too much detail on the operation at this point." Steve shrugged. "As usual."

"London?" Bucky's face went a slight shade paler.

"Best I can figure, there's something happening in northwestern France that's got England and her territories calling in the best they've got. We're going in to assist."

"That's odd… what kind of operation needs that many combined forces to carry out?" Bucky mumbled as he rested his chin on his arms.

" It's some kind of air raid over hostile territory, from what I can derive." Steve sat back and shrugged. "But like I said, there's not a lot of detail right now."

"We best get some sleep while we still can then, eh Steve?" Bucky playfully slapped Steve's arm as he stood and padded back to his bed.

Steve watched after his winged-friend. That was when it occurred to Steve that there might be a rift in their friendship - if only so small, and it tied a tight knot of sadness in his gut that followed him to sleep and into the next day.

They had left the next morning, separating themselves between two trucks as they drove to the ferry that would take them back to England. There they were met by Colonel Phillips and Colonel Holloway of the British Armed Forces. Holloway was a tall man, with a thin mustache on his upper lip and a flinty look in his gray eyes. Falsworth greeted the man with a stiff solute. Holloway returned it and turned to the rest of the Commandos.

"Welcome, gentlemen." He had said. "I imagine you all must be wondering what you're doing here."

"You could say that again." Dugan mumbled.

"We'll get to that in due time." Phillips cut in, casting his bloodhound face over the group. "But first, you should meet everybody else."

Now they were winding their way through the streets, headed north toward the War Office located in central London. Bucky twirling the feather, refusing to look out the window. The events of last night played in Steve's head over and over again like a broken film reel. Now that he was actually looking, it was blatantly obvious that something was wrong with Bucky. Bucky had never been the kind of man to advertise his woes, but being around him for as long as he had, Steve knew all of the tells that Bucky had. The vein that pulsed in his neck when he was stressed, or the faint crease on his cheek when he was upset, Steve knew them all. He promised himself that when the next chance presented itself, he would sit down with Bucky and talk about whatever it was that was hurting him – even if he had to tie Bucky to the chair.

Ten minutes later, the Commandos were being escorted by Colonel Phillips and Colonel Holloway through the bowels of the War Office. Having only been there once before when the Howling Commandos were first assembled, Steve and Bucky couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as the arched stone passageways reminded them vaguely of the subway system that connected Brooklyn and New York City and Manhattan. At last they entered a large chamber with a huge map of the world as the center piece and table. Around the table were other men in uniform, talking quietly to themselves.

As best as Steve could tell, there were at least three different units at attendance, based on the different uniforms. He immediately recognized the men wearing the red, white, and blue target symbol as pilots of the Royal Air Force. Being members of the oldest independent air force in the world, Steve had a lot of respect for these men. The other two units, however, Steve was not familiar with. The two units sported similar badges – an eagle flying within a blue ring with a crown above it and a banner below it – but they differed slightly, in that one had a blue background and the other was white. The traits of the men in these two units were strikingly similar on the other hand; tan skin, white teeth, and hair lightened by the sun. Wherever they were from, it must have been from similar regions of the world. There were eighteen men in total, and they all looked up as the Howling Commandos and the Colonels entered the room.

"We'll skip most of the introductions," Colonel Phillips started. As he began speaking, men began to stand and gather around the map. "You all can get acquainted on your own time. But for now, you should meet your fellow commanding officers…we'll start with you."

Colonel Phillips pointed at the Royal Air Force unit. One man with a narrow face, dark hair, and a scar clipping the left side of his jaw stepped forward.

"Wing Commander Illian Dale." He stated with a heavy Cockney accent, casting his gray eyes around the room. "Royal Air Force, squadron 21."

"Group Captain Charles Pickard." The next man said. He was a built man, with broad shoulders and thick arms. His eyes were dark-brown and his hair was a golden-brown, but Steve was mostly captivated by his accent. He said his a's like au's and his i's like oi's. Like he was chewing on the words while he said them. "Royal Australian Air Force, squadron 464."

Steve stared at the man. He had never met an Aussie before.

"Wing Commander Ike Smith." Said a man from the third unit, with blond hair and green eyes. He was a little on the short side and had a similar accent to Pickard, but it was noticeably different. His a's turned into o's, his e's to uh's. "Royal New Zealand Air Force, squadron 487."

Steve was still trying to process the speaking fluctuations of the Oceanians before he realized that they were all staring at him. He quickly cleared his throat and introduced himself. It seemed odd that the Commandoes were the only non-aerial unit in the room. Granted, they had Gabe and Bucky, who did some of the same things as pilots on a much smaller scale. But if they only needed reconnaissance and small artillery, then the other three units wouldn't be there. Also, to be completely honest, Steve would have rather been spending his time looking for Colonel Schmidt.

"Now that that's out of the way," Phillips stepped forward, placing his hands on the large map. "A situation has arisen in German-occupied France. The Amiens prison has had a large growth in population ever since the Germans have somehow managed to capture more members of the French Resistance. Right now, we think the prison has about seven-hundred inmates, of which a third are resistance members."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Dernier stiffen a little.

"So far, twelve prisoners have been executed." Holloway said. "Before two of our Allied Intelligence agents were also captured and taken to Amiens, we received word that there is to be another execution four days from now, on a much grander scale."

The three aerial units looked at each other uneasily, like they knew where this operation was headed. Smith even shook his head slightly.

"The prison is surrounded by walls ten-feet thick and twenty-feet high." Holloway continued. "Somehow, we have to breach this wall at the most opportune time so that when the prison is burst open, guards won't be able to secure the exit and recapture anybody who tries to escape. Luckily, we seem to have found a way around that."

"Every day at lunch, all the Nazi-guards go to a separate building for a little less than an hour." Phillips took over. "The prison is least guarded during this time… and with all hostiles concentrated into one place, they would be easy to take out."

Steve scowled at that. He was here to fight a war, not shoot fish in a barrel. But he kept quiet for now, not wanting to create a bad impression of him and his team in front of the other squads – his tongue tasted sour because of it.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary." Pickard said abruptly. "After all, this is a rescue operation, not an execution. Isn't it?" Pickard's squad nodded in agreement behind him.

Steve had to keep his mouth from falling open at the Group Captain's callousness. Nevermind that the man had just said what was on Steve's mind, having the guts to speak so freely during a debriefing without asking permission was admirable. Steve decided he liked the Aussie's.

"That'll be entirely up to you, Pickard." Holloway stated without an implication of being offended. "As the highest ranking officer here, you are the leading commander on this operation."

"Even for us?" Dugan asked. It was an innocent question, seeing as air force and militia hardly ever worked this closely. Steve knew, though, that the army equivalent of a Group Captain rank was at least a Colonel. So Pickard outranked him by a couple stars. Holloway cast Dugan a stale look, the answer to the question on his face. He turned back to everyone.

"This mission is to go underway as soon as possible. We've taken the liberty of providing you our best close-proximity planes; Mosquito-bombers are being flown in as we speak. They should be here any second now."

"Excuse me, sir." Dale spoke up. His brow was knotted with frustration. "But me and my crew have never done close proximity bombings."

"Then you're going to want to talk to Captain Pickard, Commander." Holloway stated. The Aussie and Brit cast furtive glances at each other. "He and his squad are also the most experienced with missions such as these. Pickard has completed over thirty raids during his service in this war. You all would be wise to take his word."

"Am I the only one who's wondering why they're here?" Smith said as he pointed his tan finger at Steve and his group.

Suddenly all eyes were on them. Steve tried to decide whether he should say something or not. But what could he say? He didn't know why they were there either. Until now, they hadn't even been directly addressed. Steve looked around, trying not to appear timid, but then also cast his gaze to the Colonels with a questioning quirk in his eyebrows. Holloway looked to Phillips, who held eye contact with Steve for a second longer before speaking to the whole room.

"The Howling Commandos are on a manhunt for one of Hitler's officers." He stated. "But the trail has gone cold. We believe this mission might produce a new lead."

The squadrons seemed satisfied with that answer, if maybe also a little uneasy. But it was none of their business. They were just here to fly planes. As Holloway continued to debrief the squadrons on the mission, Steve's mind raced. More questions had been raised in his mind. Why would Schmidt be in France? His last known whereabouts had been in eastern Europe. We're they going to get a separate debriefing later? What were they expecting to find?

At that moment, a cadet ran into the room and spoke quietly with Colonel Holloway for a second. Holloway turned to everyone after the brief conversation and said "Your planes are arriving. Shall we go see them in?"

The squadrons nodded and fell into line to head back out to the cars that would take them to the airfield. Steve and his soldiers were the last ones to leave, with Steve discretely stepping up behind Colonel Phillips' shoulder as they followed him out. Bucky and Falsworth walked on the other side of Phillips.

"Sir," Falsworth said softly, just barely loud enough to be heard over the crunching of gravel beneath their feet. "What exactly does this mean for me?"

"Lieutenant, you are a Howling Commando, so your first priority should be to them." Colonel Phillips said. He turned his head slightly to look at the man out of the corner of his eye. "But you do not fall under my command. And if the time should come where you must decide between your duty to the Commandos or your loyalty to King and Country, then that choice is entirely up to you."

Falsworth seemed troubled and unsatisfied with that answer, but fell silent. Steve could just barely see the struggle behind his eyes. But Steve was not too worried about the Lieutenant abandoning them. He had bigger worries.

"Colonel, what exactly is going on?" Bucky beat him to the punch.

"All I can tell you right now is that your mission is classified and to be kept top secret by powers greater than my own. In the meantime, you will just have to wait for the full debriefing."

"And when will that be?" Steve asked tightly. As soon as the Colonel had said 'top secret' Steve immediately felt a pull in his gut. Top secret usually meant something big – and dangerous.

The Colonel barely spoke loud enough for Steve to hear. "Tonight, Captain. Tonight."

* * *

A few minutes later, the air squadrons and the commandos were standing on the edge of a landing strip with their eyes in the sky and ears perked for the sound of engines. Well, some of them were. The Oceanians were all gathered around Gabe, admiring his wings and asking him questions. It turned out that New Zealand was such a small island, that there were only two winged-folk in the entire population. While Australia was considerably larger, their winged-folk were mostly indigenous, and kept to themselves. They all were extremely friendly and asked politely if they could touch and inspect Gabe's wings, and respected his boundaries when he told them to. They got very excited at the opportunity. Sometimes they would all start speaking so quickly all at once, it was nigh impossible to understand what they were saying.

Steve stood apart from that gaggle. Bucky, Falsworth, and himself stood in silence with the British squadron, who had all seen winged-fold before. As they watched the cloudy English sky for any sign of the planes, Steve saw Captain Pickard sidle up to him out of the corner of his eye.

"I've heard of you." He said. Steve was still getting used to his accent. "The story of the Great Captain America has reached far, even across the vast Pacific Ocean. Your success ignited quite the stir in the scientific community, that's sure right."

Steve turned his head toward the man. "Are you a scientist?"

Pickard shrugged. "I dabble in the sciences for my own pleasure, but I would hardly call myself a scientist. Taken too many hits to the head to remember any of that gobbledygook. That's why I'm in the air. Don't need to think too much up there."

Steve huffed a laugh through his nose, seeing Bucky grin and nod in agreement on his other side. Steve turned fully to Pickard and extended his hand.

"Steve Rogers. It's good to meet you."

Pickard took his hand and shook it. "Likewise, mate." Pickard leaned forward and extended his hand to Bucky. Bucky reached around Steve and shook the man's hand as well, giving his name. Pickard smiled at that. "Ah, I think I've heard of you too. Are you the Sergeant that…? You know…"Pickard was trying to be sensitive, but Steve still saw a muscle twitch in his jaw as he swallowed past a lump in his throat. Bucky nodded, and Pickard raised his hands. "'Pologies, mate. God knows I've got my own fair share of trauma to deal with – though nothing compared to you, I'm sure. It's right nasty what those Nazi's will do to their fellow human beings, sure right."

"Sergeant Barnes is a lot stronger than he looks." Steve said, trying to defuse the suddenly awkward atmosphere. But Bucky was still troubled by what Pickard had said. Steve imagined Bucky's feathers were ruffled right now. Bucky looked away from Steve and Pickard, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Steve nudged Bucky with his elbow and gave him a questioning look. _Are you alright?_ Bucky just stared back at Steve with icy eyes. Then he shook his head and turned away, mumbling under his breath.

"Good to know that the only thing I'm known for is being rescued."

"Heads up, lads!" Commander Dale shouted to the whole group.

Everyone looked up, scanning the sky and seeing the group of small black dots on the white sky. Gradually, they grew larger and more defined until Steve could make out the wings and engines of the planes – although he still could not hear them. In fact, it was only when the planes were coming in for their landings did the sound of engines finally reach his ears. The Mosquito planes were definitely smaller than Steve thought they would be, room for only one pilot and about three crew. The engines were tiny – smaller than any Steve had ever seen. So instead of the loud rumbled of a typical plane, the engines gave off a higher pitched buzz that didn't travel as far. Truly, "Mosquitos" was an accurate name for the planes.

The pilots of the planes departed their aircrafts, falling into a formation as they headed down the landing strip toward the squadrons and Commandos, keeping their helmets on to cushion against the sound of the dying engines. They were much shorter than an average pilot, Steve noticed. Colonel Holloway greeted them warmly, then he turned to the group of men that had gathered and said, "Let us thank these fine cadets from our very own joined forces of WASP's and WREN's."

Steve saw Bucky perk up at that. As they applauded the pilots, they each took off their helmets, revealing themselves as the women service recruits they were. The volunteer pilots smiled and nodded in appreciation. Bucky scanned the women's faces, screwing his eyebrows together as one face in particular caught his attention. His eyes grew wide as they locked with another pair of eyes that were equally as blue as his own. With her black hair tied back into a braid, it was hard to distinguish her from the group. But there was no mistaking it. She pushed her way to the front of the group of women as Bucky took a step forward, a look of joyful-astonishment on both of their faces.

"Jimmy?" She shouted, her face lighting up. She started running.

"Kate!" Bucky picked up speed as well.

Brother and sister collided in a tight embrace. Bucky even picked Kate up and spun her around with a laugh. They hugged for a long while, Kate's hands cradling Bucky's head. Steve watched on in shared happiness, both for seeing an old friend as well as for Bucky. Bucky and Kate finally pulled away to look at each other fully. He cupped her face in his hand, with the biggest smile that Steve had ever seen on his friend's face in a while. There were even a couple tears in his eyes. Bucky pulled her in closer once more and kissed her forehead. Steve realized that this reunion with his sister just might be what his best friend needed in order to get him out of his slump. Spending time with someone that he shared such a deep bond with – and who _wasn't_ Steve – could bring about a fresh new perspective for Bucky.

Colonel Holloway cleared his throat, waving his hands and telling the squadrons and service pilots to inspect their planes, leaving Bucky and Kate to have a little more privacy. The Commandos, of course, had pieced together that this was the sister that Bucky always spoke so fondly of. Or one of them, at least. They nudged each other and wordlessly decided as a group that they also had somewhere else to be. As the men and women dispersed up and down the landing strip, Bucky and Kate remained in their own world for a little while longer. Steve waited patiently to the side, not wanting to ruin the precious moment between Bucky and his sister.

"It's so good to see you." He mumbled into her hair.

Kate was starting to choke up as well, and just nodded into her brother's chest. She took a couple deep breaths and looked into his face. Her eyes were suddenly touched with deep sadness.

"I thought you were dead, Jimmy." Her voice shook as she spoke. "Me and Becky, we both got the news that you were…"

"I'm still here." Bucky said with a small laugh. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Oh, Jim…your wings…" Kate lifted a finger and gently tugged at his shoulder, where the tip of his wing had slipped out from underneath his jacket in his excitement. The white downy puffs were just starting to grow into flight feathers. Steve was expecting him to back away from the touch, like he always did. But instead, Bucky just sighed and tenderly wrapped his hand around hers.

"I'll be okay, I promise." He said with a sad smile. "Believe me, they were doing far worse things to me before I escaped."

"But how did you?" Kate looked her brother up and down in wonder. "I thought nobody could get to you."

"You're going to have to ask him." Bucky turned and pointed at Steve.

Steve walked over to Kate and Bucky, her eyebrows screwing together as she tried to figure out where she had seen such a familiar face. The look of realization as Kate recognized him was almost comical. Steve smiled down at Kate, unsure of what to say. It was almost unthinkable that before the war started, she had actually been taller than him. Her mouth slid open and her eyes slowly made their way up and down his body. One of her hands absently came up and reached for his abs. But she collected herself quickly.

"I'm sorry, I was just…Steve?" Kate smiled back at him. She gave a small nod of approval. "Holy cow."

"It's good to see you too, Kate." Steve laughed.

"Steve was the one who rescued me, practically single-handedly." Bucky mentioned. Kate reeled at that, casting a shocked gaze between her brother and Steve. Then her expression softened and she stepped forward to wrap her skinny arms around Steve's waist. Her head just barely came up to his chest, and his arms engulfed her shoulders as he embraced her back. He heard her mumbled a 'thank you' into his chest. Steve looked up at Bucky, who was watching them fondly. Kate finally pulled away, wiping new tears from her cheeks. She sniffled a couple times then laughed.

"I could give myself a black-eye just by hugging you." She stated. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, so we are going to have to meet up again later. Clearly, we have a lot to catch up on."

"You have no idea." Bucky scoffed.

* * *

That night, the Commandos gathered in the War Office once more. But it was late, almost everybody was gone. A single light lit up the conference room that they had stood in earlier that day, the large map illuminated by the incandescent lightbulb. They were gathered around the table, a heavy feeling of foreboding in the atmosphere. Bucky and Gabe were talking quietly to each other, their jumbled whispers echoing off the stone wall. Steve gazed absently at the map of Europe, all the markers that he had seen in Azzano still clear in his mind's eye. By now three of those Hydra bases had been wiped out. But Schmidt was still nowhere to be found. Steve would never admit it, but Schmidt's grotesque red face sometimes haunted his dreams.

"Gentlemen." Phillips said as he entered the chamber. Everyone turned to face their superior as he stood at the broad end of the table, hands clasped behind his back. "Earlier today, I told the other squadrons that you will be cooperating with on this mission that we are here to find a clue that will help us resume the man hunt for Colonel Schmidt…that is partially true."

Steve was instantly worried. There were a few whispers among the Commandoes, but none of them dared speak up until Colonel Phillips was done. Steve titled his head back, keeping his mouth shut but frowning in dissatisfaction. This hadn't necessarily been the first time that Steve and his team had gone on missions with only half of the details they needed. But they had never been in cooperation with other military factions, much less factions that weren't even American. With them going in half-blind, and the flight squadrons flying in without a clue, just exactly how much more risk were they taking on?

"We have reason to believe that there is a biological weapon within the Amiens prison that Schmidt has been developing in his deep-science division." Phillips placed his hands on the map in front of him. "You are to infiltrate the prison during the bombing raid and obtain this weapon. Bring it in for investigation."

"What's your source?" Morita spoke up after a long pause that queued that Phillips was done.

"We have exclusive informants within the French Resistance that were captured and taken to Amiens. Their intel has never been wrong before."

"Do we know what this weapon does?" Bucky asked. He looked very tired. They all did. "Do we know what it looks like?"

"When has it ever been that easy?" Phillips mumbled.

"You expect us to go exploring in a German-occupied prison with hostile residences, with no idea of what we're looking for…" Dugan gave the Colonel a hard stare. "… while it's being bombed?"

"Didn't say it was going to be easy." The Colonel barked. "Listen, this is the only opportunity we will have to recover this weapon. The guards will be too busy trying to keep prisoners from escaping and saving their own hides to be much of a threat to you. With the raiders overhead, you'll be practically invisible."

"It's not like we haven't done worse mission with less info." Falsworth said to Dugan.

"So you're telling me," Steve suddenly spoke up. All eyes fell on him. Steve's expression was hard, his voice tight. "We're risking the lives of those flight squadrons for a weapon that we most likely will not be able to find?"

"You have plenty of incentive to make sure that you do find it." Phillips countered.

"Are we at least going to share what we find from this weapon with our allies?" Steve took a step forward, feeling his anger rise.

"Are you serious?" Phillips scoffed. "We need as much help as we can get. We're fighting a war on both fronts, in case you've forgotten. We don't have time for show and tell."

"So they don't benefit from this mission at all?" Steve spread his fingers, gesturing aggressively. "You think that just because they aren't our own soldiers, it's perfectly okay to use them like this? I thought we were all on the same side!"

"This is war, son. Nobody benefits from anything." Phillips seemed unfazed, if maybe a little annoyed with the super soldier. "And you seem to have forgotten that those squadrons have the same duty as you; to serve and protect. Operation Jericho would have initiated with or without you."

"So we're the extra baggage." Bucky crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly. "Fine. Then why don't we let the real heroes do the real work without them having to worry about us? Why waste their time? We could have scavenged it out of the aftermath. No weapon is worth so much."

"This one is. We are not completely sure if this mission will be a success, or if it is, how _much_ of one. Losing this weapon is not a risk that Washington is willing to take. Not without trying. That's why they asked for you." Phillips enunciated his words more slowly, voice hard and low. "We have one chance. This is it. Now you either take it, or get on a boat with a court-marshal waiting for you back home."

Steve was fuming. The air in the War Office was tense as Colonel Phillips and Steve stared each other down. The rest of the Commandos were torn. They didn't like being reminded that they had no choice but to do what they were told and it ignited a fire of insurgence within them. But there were deeper, moral issues that not all of them agreed on – the value of life over liberty, for example. In the end, the call of duty usually won out. Steve liked to think that the Commandos had been clever with finding loop holes in the chain of command and their so-called orders. But the truth was, they had been lucky or dealt a good hand. At some point, the winds were bound to change against them.

"Colonel, please tell me," Dernier suddenly spoke up. The explosives expert hesitated as all the attention fell on him. He swallowed before continuing. "Are they testing this weapon on my people?"

Colonel Phillips' expression softened. He took a deep sigh through his nose.

"Our intelligence is vague...but logic would lead us to believe that this prison has served as a laboratory of sorts. The main test subjects would most likely be the prisoners."

Dernier's gaze fell away from the Colonel. He was silent for a long while, his eyes in a far away, dark place. The rest of the Commandos stood in silence, unsure if they should say anything, or even what to say if they could. Dernier looked up at Steve, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't have to say anything at all. The sadness and pain in Dernier's eyes was enough to defuse the anger in Steve, receiving the message loud and clear.

Dernier had two daughters. Their mother was dead, and he had no idea what had happened. He hadn't heard from them in three years. If they were in that prison…

Dernier took the beret off his head, wiped it across his face, then turned and walked out of the war office without another word.

* * *

A/N: Just a quick note that I've done some major editing to chapter 7, including introduced a character. If you haven't read it in a while, I suggest taking a look. So clearly this particular mission is going to span out for a couple chapters. Operation Jericho is actually a thing that happened, and it's really cool to read about if you like history. And Kate is my favorite sisters, in case you can't tell.

Also, I graduated college. I'm officially an adult now. This is either really good or really bad...

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	14. Early Hours

February, 1944

* * *

Kate and Bucky spent most of the next day together, sitting at the airfield that had reunited them. They were both fond of big open spaces, and were content with just lounging at a small wooden table outside the military airport with their eyes turned to the sky, watching the Jericho pilots test out the new Mosquito planes. Pickard and his crew were running the British and New Zealand pilots through drill after drill that would prepare them for close proximity combat. The Commandos weren't too involved in the process, but there were a couple – Falsworth and Gabe – who volunteered to act as airhands for a couple of the pilots. Gabe had joined his new friends the Kiwi's on one plane while Falsworth went with his fellow countrymen on another. Bucky and Kate watched the planes make zooming streaks over the airfield, each time getting closer and closer to the ground, while they talked.

"I can't believe you met Alexander Ockypete." Bucky shook his head as Kate chuckled. "You know that man has been my hero since I was eight, right?"

"No, I could hardly tell by all the swooning you did over him." Kate rolled her eyes.

"I did not swoon!" Bucky paused. "And even if I did, it was well deserved on his part. He flew from Canada to Mexico in one flight, and made it halfway across the Atlantic. Alexander Ockypete is like a _god _for us winged-folk."

"Actually, he just a general, now." Kate quirked her lips. "And honestly, rather on the short side."

Bucky laughed at that. "Don't go belittling the greatest flyer of all time. Maybe he just seemed shorter from farther away."

"I suppose that's possible, but don't raise your expectations too high." Kate grinned at her brother.

A lull overtook the conversation as they both watched the planes arc back to the sky from the latest proximity drill. As the sound of the engines faded into the distance and they could both hear their own voices again, Kate turned to Bucky. She wasn't smiling anymore, but her eyes were still soft.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened, Jim?" She said quietly.

Bucky puckered his lips in thought, more for the decision of where to begin than whether or not to actually tell his sister everything. Sooner or later his story would make its way to Becky, and from her to his parents and he would rather not upset them too much – but he didn't want to sugarcoat his experience. His words had to be chosen carefully. He started by taking the feathered necklace off of his neck and handing it to her. She took it delicately, and listened intently as Bucky started from the beginning. Every now and then he would have to pause so that nothing was lost over the sound of the buzzing planes. As his story progressed, Kate's expression became more grim and sad, her fingers lightly tracing the feathers. She huffed a single laugh at the tale of the winged-women in Bucky's squad humiliating Private Porter.

When Bucky came to the part about his capture and imprisonment, he unconsciously became less detailed in his story. Thankfully though, Kate seemed less inclined to hear about it than Bucky was to talk about it. He told her that she would have to ask Steve about the white feather on his necklace.

When he finished, his throat was tight and a hard lump sat in his chest. Bucky closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. Before he opened them, a pair of arms gently wrapped themselves around his neck. Bucky looked down and saw that his sister was trying very hard to hold back tears, her skin as pale as a ghost. When she spoke, her voice was strained into a higher pitch.

"I'm so sorry, Jimmy." She took a couple of deep shuddering breaths. "I-I'm so thankful you're alive…thought I would never see you again."

Bucky would never admit it, but he was a sympathy crier. Seeing his sister's grief over him brought tears to his eyes. It also brought up memories of cold nights back in that god-forsaken factory, wondering if he would ever see his family again. He chuckled around it though, and rubbed Kate's back in a gesture of comfort.

"I'm glad I'm alive, too."

Kate sat up and looked Bucky dead in the eye. Bucky was taken aback by the seriousness in her eyes. Kate had always been smart and clever, but between the three Barnes sisters, she was the most aloof. She lived from moment to moment without a fixed plan for life and went wherever the wind took her. She was a free spirit, and never seemed to have a care or worry in the world – something she might have picked up from her brother. It was this mindset that had led her to pursue getting a pilot's license. It went without saying though, had she known that it would also lead to her being recruited for the war, she might have decided otherwise. But that was not the sister Bucky saw right now.

"But are you _okay_?" Kate asked carefully, her voice steady once more.

It was a poorly disguised question. The same veiled question that Steve would ask him at least five times a day. Kate wanted to know if he was shell shocked. If he was suicidal, or depressed, or any other kind of malfunction that was so common with prisoners of war. Bucky's natural reaction was to groan, to play tough and say he was fine. But Kate wasn't Steve. Sure, they could both see through his lie, but the difference between Steve and his sister was that Steve would only ask once and be done and – in all honesty – Bucky respected his sisters too much to lie to them about something like this.

"I have nightmares." Bucky said. When he saw his sister's eyebrows knot together in worry he quickly continued. "But really, that's about it. I don't jump at the sound of gunfire, I'm not paranoid – well,_ as_ paranoid."

That elicited a single huff of laughter from Kate, but she sat looking at him. Waiting. Bucky sighed. The planes zoomed by before he spoke again.

"I don't feel like I can trust anyone." Bucky's voice was low. "Or actually, I don't feel like I can get close enough to anybody _to_ trust them. The last people I had something like that with was my squad, and they…"

Bucky had to stop talking for a minute, the sudden tightness in his chest threatening to overwhelm him. Kate, thankfully, did nothing more than tilt her head at him and wait patiently. She knew he hated being coddled.

"If you really want to know," Bucky laughed around his pain. "I'm terrified, because I have a new squad now, and Steve is in charge of it! I mean, I couldn't keep six people alive in the safest position in the war, how the hell am I going to keep Steve and the others alive now?"

Bucky didn't realize that he had stood up at some point in his rant. He could feel his wings straining against his jacket, ruffling with emotion. He clasped his hands behind his head, giving his chest more room to heave in and out. Turning away from his sister, Bucky reminded himself why he never talked about his problems; he sucked at it. But yet, he continued to talk, feeling Kate's eyes on his back.

"I feel useless, Kate." Bucky sighed. "Beyond useless. I can't fly, I can barely fight. The only thing I'm good for… is_ being rescued_."

"You know that's not true." Kate said. She paused. "What did Steve have to say to all of this?"

Bucky put his arms down, turned around, and sat back down at the table. Kate's gazed turned more suspicious the longer he didn't answer.

"You didn't talk to him?"

"The last thing Steve needs is to worry about me."

"Oh, it's way too late for that, big brother."

"You know what I mean. He's got bigger things on his plate now. No room for me."

"Jimmy, you should know better." Kate grinned. "You're not just something on his plate, you are his plate."

Bucky smiled. "That was a terrible metaphor."

"I'm serious, Jim." She certainly was. "I'm here now, but when this mission is over, I'll be flying off somewhere and you'll be assigned to another mission. Out there you'll have Steve, not me. That used to be what you preferred."

Bucky hated it when his sisters made sense. "I know, I know. I just – both of us have changed so much. He's my commanding officer. Talking to him seems so…" He couldn't find a word for it, so he screwed his face up as he lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers. He looked over at Kate. She was not amused. In fact, she suddenly looked very solemn.

"Jimmy, when they called me to London headquarters on specific request, I knew that only meant two things." Kate said slowly. "Either something had happened to Becky, or something had happened to you. I walked into the War Office and saw Becky standing there with the Colonel. He took us to his office and told us that…" Kate took a deep breath. "And I know that this is going to sound crazy, but all I could think about for months were all the things you were never going to experience. Like… you were never going to see me or Becky or Ally get married, and have kids. You were never going to be called 'Uncle Jimmy'. You would never get the chance to fly with me again. Stuff like that. All I could think about was that there were still things that I wanted to do with you, to say to you, and I couldn't. There is no doubt in my mind that Steve went through the same thing. We have a second chance now, thank god, and I'm not going to waste it. You shouldn't either."

Bucky mulled her words over, which pulled at his heart strings as he realized that thoughts like that had never occurred to him. He had been too preoccupied surviving that he had forgotten about his life. He took a deep breath through his nose.

"So you're saying I should make the most out of all of this before I really am dead." He stated.

"I'm saying you should make the most out of all of this before Steve is dead." Bucky snapped his head up at that. Kate continued. "We all expect it to happen to ourselves, but we don't prepare for when it happens to someone else. He's still human, Jimmy. Anything can happen."

Bucky blanched at that. "I watched all of my friends die once already, Kate. I don't think I could survive if that happened again."

"You will, just like how you'll come to fly again." Kate said as she scooched closer and draped and arm over Bucky's shoulder. "Becky, Ally, me and especially Steve will be there to help you. We believe in you, Jim."

Bucky gave a small smile as he leaned his head against Kate's. Her presence brought the comfort and ease that only a family member could. Bucky thanked his lucky stars once again for the chance that he and Kate would happen to be at the same place at the same time.

"Thanks, Poppy." He said, reviving Kate's childhood nickname. "When did you get so wise?"

"I was always wise," She said as she handed Bucky's feathered necklace back to him. "Just didn't say a lot of wise things."

They sat for a long moment after that in silence, watching the planes. They made a few more runs, then landed. The pilots departed the planes and had a small meeting right there on the runway. Bucky thought carefully over Kate's words. She was right, of course. He should talk to Steve. It was only fair to his best friend.

"And you were wrong, by the way." Kate spoke up. "You and Steve? Neither one of you has changed a bit."

* * *

Steve sat in a small circle of folders on the floor of the documents room in the War Office. He and Agent Carter had teamed up to try to find even a smidgen of information about this "top secret weapon" that the Colonel claimed the Germans had in this prison. It was not an easy task. There were no infamous Nazi scientists recorded to be at the prison, which gave them no idea about the weapon itself. If it had been Baron Zemo they were dealing with, Steve might have pitched a fit – he really did not want to go up against that madman's death ray again. Just being near the damn thing had left Steve sick in bed for a week. That did not turn out to be the case, however, since Zemo was reported to be in Poland. No doubt hiding from both the allies and Nazis, since his experimental test run of the death ray on a small German town had made him an enemy of both.

Steve sighed as he closed another folder and flopped it onto the floor. The lead he had been following was a dead end. He looked up at Peggy, who was reading over another file, but the dreary expression in her eyes showed that the info was not promising. It was fairly late, and yet she still looked like she had just put her outfit together – every curl was still tight, her makeup was smudge-free, and her uniform looked like it had just been pressed. Steve didn't know how she did it.

"Let me ask you something," Peggy looked up at him. "When you get missions, do your superiors give you more to work with than this?"

Peggy scoffed at that as she looked back to the folder, fingering the corner of the last page. "They do, but I suspect that comes more out of pity than respect. They don't think I can complete an assignment if I have to figure anything out for myself. I suppose it comes with being a woman in a man's military."

Steve frowned at that. He hated that a person couldn't be given credit for being smart or resourceful just because they were a woman. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm not really complaining." She shrugged. "I just wouldn't mind getting to do a little of my own detective work once in a while. Prove I'm not as stupid as they think."

"Well it's a good thing you met me then, isn't it?" Steve said as he flicked his hand towards the files.

"It's one of the perks, yes." Peggy grinned.

Steve shared the grin, then straightened his back and stretched his arms over his head, working the knots of his back. He was still perturbed that Colonel Phillips simply expected them to scour the prison and _maybe _come across this weapon. It was a large prison with many rooms and floors. If the prison wasn't being bombed, and they had more time, then yes – they probably would be able to find it. But that wouldn't be without running into many guards and many more risks. If they could narrow down the location of the weapon inside the prison, then that would definitely help. But when was it ever that easy?

Basically, this mission was a pain in the ass.

"The last thing I want to do is go in there without a clue," Steve said as he swung his arms down. "And then have to split up."

"I agree." Peggy said as she closed her file. "But unless we have some kind of miraculous breakthrough, I'm afraid you're not going to have very many options."

"You might have a better chance of that on a full stomach."

Steve and Peggy both looked up. Ike Smith, the leader of the New Zealand squad, and Pickard were both carrying paper bags and glass bottles of Coke and walking toward them.

"We noticed that you weren't at dinner, captain." Pickard said as he and Ike sat down on the floor across from him and Peggy.

"Actually, you're crew said that they hadn't seen you all day." Ike said as he opened his paper bag. "The tall gloomy fella was looking for you."

Steve was almost distracted by their accents. When they were talking next to each other, it was easy to distinguish them. Steve and Peggy watched as the two pilots procured a bread roll, a couple of sausages, and a banana from their paper bags. Steve eyed them hungrily, feeling the pull in his stomach not for the first time. Pickard pulled a knife out of his pocket and snapped the lids off the Coke bottles.

"Cheers." He said as he handed them both the drinks. Steve and Peggy tipped the bottles to each other before taking sips. The bubbling drink was unbelievably refreshing, instantly soothing Steve's roiling gut.

"I'll never be able to thank you both enough for this." Steve said, pulling the food closer to him. "Really, you guys didn't have to do this. Thank you."

"No problem, mate." Ike said as he leaned back on his hands. The young man's laid back attitude was peculiar to Steve. It seemed out of place in the high-stress environment of war. Ike looked over the files scattered on the floor. "Studying up for your manhunt?"

"Something like that." Steve said before he bit into the bread roll. "You said Bucky was looking for me?"

"Aye. Said he just needed to talk." Ike picked up a random folder and skimmed over the first page. "Anything we can do to help?"

"You've already helped us greatly." Peggy said. "But I'm afraid this is strictly confidential."

"We know. Just thought I'd ask anyway. Since you two have been here all day, I figured you haven't made much progress." Ike closed the file and set it down. "Besides, it never hurts to have a new perspective. We'll see you in the morning then, Captain Rogers.""

Pickard and Ike both stood up and turned to leave. Steve shot a look at Peggy, and she saw the urgency in his eyes. As much as she would have liked to give the Captain control of who was read into the assignment and who wasn't, this wasn't her operation to lead. Peggy could tell Steve was desperate, and she couldn't blame him. It was almost as if his team had been set up to fail with what they were given to work with. But Peggy would hate to see him get in trouble. She gave him a warning look, but otherwise said nothing. Steve took a deep breath as he made the decision to defy his orders.

"Actually…" Both men stopped to look back at him. "Maybe you can help me."

As the pilots made their way back over to him, Steve searched through the pile in front of him and pulled out two folders. He reached up and handed them to the Oceanians.

"These don't leave this room." Steve said in all seriousness, regarding not only the folders, but also any discussion about them.

Ike and Pickard nodded as they opened their files and looked over the profiles and pictures.

"Cripes, get a load of this beauty." Pickard said as he held up Schmidt's picture. "Reminds me of a snake I saw once."

"Can't say I recognize him." Ike frowned as he looked between Zola's file in his hand and Schmidt's picture. "I was never too familiar with the brainy side of things."

Steve deflated a little. Perhaps he had boosted his hopes a little too much. He was too tired to feel anymore frustration, thankfully.

"Sure seems like a lot of trouble for just one man." Ike mumbled as he looked at the pile of folders again.

"That one man has committed unspeakable crimes against humanity." Steve said, almost hissing it through his teeth. "Believe me, he's not someone that you want roaming free."

"Sorry we couldn't help, Captain. Sure hope you catch him." Ike said as he closed the folder.

"Wait, hold up a minute!" Pickard spoke up as he reached a hand over to open Ike's folder. He picked up one of the pictures that accompanied Zola's file, an early one from when he had been studying at Leipzig University. It showed Zola and his research team as they were working. Only the man himself was looking at the camera. Pickard lifted a finger and pointed at the picture. "I know this man!"

Steve shot to his feet so fast he almost knocked his drink over and a small gust of wind almost blew the photo out of Pickard's hand.

"Is there anything you think you can tell us about Zola that we don't already know?" Steve said quickly, becoming excited at the first bit of news of the whole evening.

"What? No, I can't tell you anything about him, but _this man_," Pickard pointed at the photo again, his finger directly indicating another man in the background. He was younger, with a full head of dark hair and a strong jawline. He was distracted from the camera by whatever work they were doing. "This man is Heinrich Kobe, a German-Australian, but they wouldn't have heard of him in Europe. He's known in the scientific community as a bit of a loose cannon, with what little I've read about him."

"And he worked for Zola's research team." Steve said out loud mostly to himself, but stopped when Pickard shook his head.

"Nah, mate." He said as he put the picture back in the file in Ike's hands. "He might have been a bit wacky, but he was not stupid. Zola and Kobe would have been _colleagues_."

Steve dared to hope. "And after Leipzig?"

Pickard shrugged. "Difficult to say. He's a wanted man now, since he was found performing unethical experimentation under the guise of an Austrian professor. He could be anywhere."

"Sounds like exactly the type of scientist that Hydra would love to get their hands on." Peggy said from her spot on the floor.

Steve was electrified with the notion that this was the breakthrough they had been striving for all night. It almost seemed too good to be true, but what did he have to lose other than a couple more hours of sleep?

"Captain, I need you to tell me everything you know about Heinrich Kobe."

* * *

When Steve finally got back to the room that was reserved for him and Bucky, it must have been very early in the morning. It only took Pickard several minutes to point Steve in the right direction regarding Kobe's research, notably some thesis papers and scientific journals where Kobe was either a source or a reference. While it didn't give much insight to the man himself, it surely gave Steve a good idea of what the man was interested in. He let Pickard and Ike retire for the night. After a couple more hours of reading and brainstorming, he pushed a dreary-eyed Peggy out of the room, demanding she go to bed. He had tagged so many pages and flipped so many pieces of paper that his fingers were almost cracked from how dry they were…but it had been worth it.

Steve had a lethargic grin on his face as he shuffled through the door, hand slipping off the door knob as his body ached for him to rest. But even in his sleep deprived state he was still aware that the light to his room should _not _have been on at this hour. Steve stopped short, the shock of adrenalin not giving near as much energy as it would in normal circumstances. But he quickly relaxed – it was just Bucky.

Bucky was doing wing-ups – like push-ups, but with his wings instead and his hands clasped behind his head, as well as the added level of difficulty by having his feet propped up on the bed. Bucky only paused momentarily, looking up at Steve with an astonished expression. Sweat dripped from his nose to the floor, his bare back glossy. Steve suspected that he had given his winged-friend quite the scare as well.

"Hey Stevie." Bucky's voice was strained from muscle exertion. "You finally decided to call it a day, huh?"

"And what a day it's been." Steve said as he scooted on over to his cot and sat down on it. He didn't lie down just yet, no matter how enticing the thin blanket and stiff mattress were. There were things he wanted to discuss. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't really fall asleep to begin with, you know?" Bucky said in between going up and down. "I just kind of dozed in and out. Figured I had to tire myself out."

Steve waited for Bucky to finish. He had prescribed himself these daily exercises that targeted his wings to keep his flight muscles from going south. Doctors had said that it might also help increase the blood flow, which would help the feathers grow faster. Every night, Bucky would do a menagerie of exercises that Steve had only seen him doing once before – when Ms. Turner was teaching him how to fly, and his flight feathers were developing for the first time. Bucky finished his wing-ups and stood in the center of the room, catching his breath.

"I gotta tell ya, Steve." Bucky said as he wiped his brow. "With all the muscle I'm putting on, I might be too heavy to fly."

"I don't think that's possible with you." Steve said blearily as Bucky picked up his undershirt and slipped it over his head. "That would be like…a fish, not being able to swim."

Bucky cast him a look. "You always did get a little goofy when you were tired. But seriously, I went and had a quick checkup at the War Office, and they said everything was going along fine. But I weigh 110 pounds now! Ridiculous."

Steve had to think about how it was possible that Bucky would weigh less than Peggy for longer than he cared to admit.

"Oh, hollow bones. Right." Steve nodded. "Well, I'm sure there's nothing that you, me, or even God could do to keep you from flying."

Steve watched as Bucky's hands worked to fasten the buttons at the bottom of the shirt that would close off the two slits in the back meant for Bucky's wings to poke through. Bucky's wings looked much healthier; no more bare spots or wide gaps in the fledging. In fact, if Steve didn't know better, he would had said that Bucky's feathers were fully grown back. His edging was patched with divets of white down feathers where the coverts had never grown back, but Bucky's wings looked good.

"Did the doctors say when that was going to be?" Steve asked absently.

"Well, the initial diagnosis said that I probably wouldn't be able to fly till about June." Bucky finished with the buttons and sat down on his own cot. "But then these doctors here said I might be good to go in a couple weeks."

"That's good, isn't it?" Steve asked, the concerned look on his friend's face throwing him off.

"I guess. It means one of those doctors messed up, right?" Bucky looked to Steve, his eyes more troubled than they should have been.

"Yeah, I suppose. What else could it be?" Steve tried to sit up straighter, but his mind was too exhausted to do even that. Bucky looked away from him and nodded, sighing through his nose. The wing-ups seemed to do the trick of tiring him out, as Bucky slumped against the wall his cot was up against, splaying his wings out to either side.

"I guess we'll find out in a couple weeks. Well," Bucky rolled his eyes. "If this damn mission doesn't kill us first."

"Oh, it won't." Steve sang with his smile returning back to his face.

Bucky snapped his gaze back up to him, his mouth falling open as he read Steve's triumphant expression. He sat up a little and leaned toward his friend.

"You found something?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve couldn't keep the smile off his face. He slumped back against the wall as well and relaxed his head on the plaster surface.

"I know what the weapon is."

Bucky chuckled. "Atta boy, Steve. Sorry I wasn't there to help you out, by the way."

"No, it's okay." Steve shook his head. "You needed to spend time with your sister, I understand that."

"She's changed so much. Makes me wonder what Ally and Becky are like now."

"If they're lucky, they're just like you." Steve lolled his head forward. "But if they're unlucky, they're just like you."

Bucky laughed at that, giving Steve a sense of satisfaction. He could still make Bucky laugh, after everything.

"Yeah, you got me there." Bucky scrubbed his eyes. "I guess that comes with being friends with _you_."

Steve smirked at that, but a sudden pang of sadness in his chest quickly wiped away his smile. God, he missed this. Times like these when he and Bucky could make fun of each other, share a laugh, and just be themselves. It had been far too long since they had last had the chance to just be brothers. Granted, they were both tired out of their minds. Bucky yawned, his eyelids were half-open and his wings were relaxed on the bed cover. He seemed to drift off for a little while, then his eyelids shot open and he took a deep breath.

"I'm gonna call it a night." He said. "Or morning, I guess."

"Don't you wanna know how I figured it out?"

"I do, but I think you're too delirious to make sense." Bucky said. He stretched himself one more time before laying down on the bed. "Or, if you do, then I'm too tired to care."

"Fair enough." Steve nodded, but didn't lay down just yet. He let a moment of silence lapse between them before he spoke again. "Ike said that you were looking for me today."

"Who's Ike?" Bucky mumbled, not even opening his eyes.

"The New Zealand squad leader."

"Ah, right." Bucky inhaled deeply through his nose. "Yeah, I just wanted to talk." His speech became fainter and more slurred with every word.

"About what?" Steve persisted.

A couple seconds passed before Bucky answered him, but Bucky was too far into falling asleep to make sense. "Jus…wand to say…"

And that was it. Steve huffed a single laugh and shook his head. He had to admit that he was also too tired to care. Steve flopped over onto his elbow and reached over to turn off the lamp. As soon as darkness swallowed the room, Steve's head hit the pillow and he was asleep faster than Bucky. He didn't realize that he had never taken his boots off.

* * *

What little sleep Steve was going to get was shattered by a furious pounding. He was sitting up in bed before he was fully awake. The faintest blue light from early morning crawled through the window, dimly giving shape to the darkness. Steve immediately looked over to see that Bucky had also shot up in bed, but his eyes were wide and alert, prepared for a fight. Steve hung his head as his nerves calmed down. He guessed that he had only been asleep for about three hours. Bucky and Steve both looked up again as their door was knocked upon once more. It was fast and frantic, making Steve's chest twinge with worry. He groggily got up and padded over to the door. When he opened it, Pickard was standing in the hallway wearing his full aviator uniform.

"Wake your men, captain." Pickard said, his eyebrows drawn together. "We need to move."

"What's going on?" Steve blurred as he wiped his face. Bucky was behind him, pulling on his boots and jacket. "Did something happen?"

"There's been some new activity at Amiens." Pickard said as Steve turned to grab his own uniform. "The peculiarity of it caused the intelligence department to look over their sources, see if they had missed something."

"And?" Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him.

"They missed something, alright." Pickard sneered. "Little bit of info that just barely managed to make it through the veil. That prisoner execution? Turns out we don't have three days to prepare for it."

Steve and Bucky froze, both looking up at Pickard with fear in their eyes. Pickard suddenly became solemn, and for the first time since Steve had met him, the Aussie looked terrified. It was not a good look on the man. Pickard didn't look Steve in the eye.

"It's been moved to today. We fly out in two hours."

* * *

A/N: Before I get berrated about the improbability of humans with hollow bones just let me say that 1. I know, and 2. hollow bones are actually a lot stronger than most people think. The hollow part of bird bones is criss-crossed with a bunch of tresses, like support beams. Just saying.

This chapter has a lot of words, but not a whole lot happens. Chances are, that's going to change in the next chapter. But it was nice writing the Kate+Bucky and Bucky+Steve moments. Hope everyone's having a good summer!

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


End file.
